


The Blog of John H. Watson

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angst and Humor, Concerned Sherlock, Depressed John, Drugs, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt John, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John and Sherlock in love, John can't cope, John's blog, Johnlock - Freeform, Lonely John, M/M, Oblivious Sherlock, Post Reichenbach, Protective John, Silly, Smut, Suicidal John, oblivious friends, smut and humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 82,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is using his blog to vent about the death of Sherlock Holmes, and life alone. He ends up rooming with coworker, Mary Morstan. </p>
<p>A few months after Sherlock's death, things take a turn for the worse for John. He hides it well, and continues on with a normal life. He hides it so well that no one see's how far gone John is until Greg picked him up for drug charges. </p>
<p>This is the story of John Watson, and his life without Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover Page

 

 

Cover Page

* * *

 

 

This fic is supposed to be John's blog. My editing skills are.. Lacking.. And I'm not even sure if I can make Ao3 look like a blog. So here are a few things you'll need to keep in mind while reading this.

The main body of text will be John's blog entry. I will separate the entry from the comments with a line. Here is where it gets a tiny bit tricky. Comments will be in  **Bold**  while comments that are being typed but NOT posted will be in  _italics_. (These will be Sherlock's comments. As he's reading the blog, but obviously can't actually communicate with John.) I might also, add in some of Sherlock's thoughts. Maybe a secret document he has on his laptop. 

Please, remember to read the tags. I LOVE feels, and I might be entirely cruel to John in this fic. I promise you though, if you stick with it, it WILL have a happy ending. 

Please don't hate me too much. 

I'm going to be posting Chapter Updates on my tumblr. Any questions, please feel free to ask here, or there. I work crazy hours, so I promise if I don't reply right away, I don't hate you. Just work 50+ hours a week. 

[My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ireneadler32)

 

Please, don't forget to comment and leave Kudos, as that if the life blood of all fic writers.  It lets us know that someone out there likes our work and that we should continue. 


	2. 1st January, 2012 9:00 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a WIP (As of 5/5/15) Please forgive me for delays between chapters, if there are any. I have Attention Deficit OH SHINY!
> 
> And, also, I work two jobs and writing is something I don't get to do very often.

 

1st January, 2012 9:00 am

 

"Happy new year!" That's what they keep saying. Happy? My ass. They didn't watch their best friend fall to his death. Suicide they call it, not murder.  I know better.

I can't afford this motel room anymore. But I can't go back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson even offered me 221C free of rent, but... I can't go back there. I can still smell him, still hear him, everything is as he left it that morning. We, Mrs. Hudson and I, don't have the heart to touch it.

He'd be proud, really, this is the longest I've ever let fingers stay in the freezer.  Christ, I should hire someone to clean the flat... Don't want Mrs. Hudson to get sick from something left up there.  

A woman from work, Mary, has offered me one of her spare rooms. She seems nice enough.  But I can't flatshare again. Not after.... What the hell is wrong with me. I can't even say his name. And it's been two bloody months.

If  by some miracle, Sherlock, you're not actually dead...  What the bloody hell!? Why didn't you take me with you. Even if you are dead, you should have taken me with you.  

Not sure when I'll have Internet again. I have no idea where I'll sleep tonight. Maybe I should call Mike or Greg. Swallow my pride for once.

 

* * *

 

**Comments:**

**Greg: John! I had no idea... Haven't seen you since...  Come stay with me. It'll be good to see you again, it's been too long.**

**Mike: My place is small, but if your in a pinch, I'd rather have you here than on the streets. Drinks, Friday. Meet me at the pub and we'll talk about it.**

**Harry: OMFG Murder? Really, John? He bloody jumped, now is that murder?**

**John: Doubt I'll be in the mood to go out, thanks though. Harry, do us all a favor and shut up.**

_[Unsent] Sherlock: John, I miss calculated your emotional response. I truly wish I had been able to bring you with me. I miss your company more than I thought possible._

_You're right, I am proud that you've left the fingers alone. But you should go back to Baker Street. It is our home.  One of us should be there._

 

 


	3. 6th January, 2012 3:04 P.M.

6th January, 2012 3:04 P.M.

 

I've spent the last few nights on Greg's sofa. It was all well and good, but I couldn't stay there. Mycroft's presence was an all too painful reminder of my former flatmate. So I've swallowed my pride and took Mary's offer. I've got my own room, I'm in the guest room, tucked in the back of the house. It's small, but I don't need much, I don't have much. All I have is my old military bag that i stuff full of clothes after the funeral.  It feels a bit like my military days, I find it a little comforting. Oh, Greg gave me Sherlock's scarf and coat. Said evidence didn't need it anymore. That was nice of him.

Mike, I've lost my phone charger. Probably left it at the motel, if you read this, are we still on for drinks? Mary has a friend over and I'm not fully comfortable here. That and Cam gives me the creeps.

 

* * *

 

**Comments:**

**Mike: Ah, that explains why you haven't returned my calls. Yeah, meet me at the pub for 7. I'll go right after work. I'll bring you one of my spare chargers. I think we have the same phone.**

**John:  Ta. Right, see you then.**

 

 


	4. 6th January, 2012 11:32 P.M.

6th January, 2012 11:32 P.M.

 

 ~~I've had a few drunks and I'm a bit drink.~~  *edit*  
  
I've had a few drinks and I'm a bit drunk. We, Mike and I, toasted to Sherlock tonight... There I've said his name.

I admitted something... Something I hadn't even admitted to myself.

I love Sherlock Holmes.

Loved. I loved him. He's dead now.

You can't love the dead.

 

* * *

 

**Comments:**

**Mike: Glad you came out tonight, mate.**

**Harry: *giggle snort* came out. Well said, Mike!**

**Mike: Bloody hell, Harry, I meant that he hung out with me. Not came out as gay. Anyways, why would you find that funny? You're one to talk.**

**John: Me too, mate. Harry, shove it. I'd rather not have to delete your comments.**

_[Unsent] Sherlock: I'm not dead. Please don't stop loving me. For gods sake, I love you too._

**Mrs. Hudson: Oh, John! I knew it, I just knew it!**

**John: Yes, Mrs. H. You may say "I told you so".**


	5. 30th January, 2012

30th January, 2012 8:00 A.M.

 

I'd be lying if I said these last few months have been anything less than hell. Ella, my therapist, says it'll get easier. That I need to talk about it. But what is there to say? Simply put, Sherlock, my best friend, is dead. And perhaps, if I hadn't been so blind, he could have been more than a friend.

It's getting a bit easier, living with Mary. We've both settled into something of a routine. Some days even ride into work together. I can't say I'll ever feel at home here, not like at Baker Street. But it is what I can afford. My nerves are too weak to allow me to work much. I mainly take a few hours a day at the clinic, just enough to survive on. After a life with Sherlock, I see how right he was. Work is tedious. However, I hope to soon be able to work longer hours and get my own place.

I'm not saying any of this because I want pity. I don't want people telling me how sorry for me they are. I just want to carry on with life. I write this because I had a wake up call last night. Mary woke me up from a particularly horrid nightmare. Thank god Mycroft took my gun, because when she woke me, I reached for it under my pillow. I spent the rest of the night in her arm, sobbing like a child.

Time to move on. If Sherlock were alive he would have sent me a sign, a word, a signal, something. So, Watson, it's time to get a grip, and stop looking for secret signs that aren't there.  

 

* * *

 

 

**Comments:  
**

**Mike: I've still got my sofa, mate. If you need to get away. Well, call me. Let's do dinner and drinks on Friday again.**

**John: Er, Sure. Meet you at 7? Does that time still work for you?**

**Mrs. Hudson: Still having nightmares, John? I remember my husband... Mrs. Turner just informed me that you probably don't care.**  
  
_[Unsent] Sherlock Holmes: Don't cry on my behalf, John, for I am not dead. I just can't be with you. Tell that awful woman to keep her hands off of you. I wont have you falling for her simply because of your mental state._

**Mary: You were not sobbing like a child. Simply like a man who has lost a great love.**

**Molly: John, It'll get better. I promise. You just have to give it time.**


	6. 12th February, 2012 9:00 P.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I originally didn't want to do this. But I think that I'm going to delve a little into the world outside the blog. If it seems.. weird... or forced. Please let me know! I'm just not sure how else to go about this.

12th February, 2012

  
Just came back from a session with Ella. She said I needed to share my feelings more. Load of crap, but Ella, this is for you. So you can shove it next week.

You know what? Fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck everything. I need to go for a walk.

* * *

 

**Comments:**

  
**Mike: John! Answer the damn phone. I know you’re sending my calls right to voicemail!**   
  
**Greg: We aren't going to have a problem again, are we? John, there is only so much I can do for you.**    
  
**Mycroft: John Watson! This is simply childish. Answer my calls. Please. Or I’m calling your therapist. Clearly she isn't working for you.**

 

 

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

John grabbed his wallet, violently shoved his phone in his pocket and stormed down the stairs. Mary was in the sitting room as he passed, she didn't even look up as the whirlwind that was John Watson flew out of the house. She was used to his moods by now, and used to his late night walks.  
  
John took off in the direction of London. Mary's house was located in the suburbs, only a 15 minute drive from Baker Street if you knew the right roads to take. And of course John did. His feet gravitated towards Baker Street. It wasn't until he was halfway up the steps did he even realize where he was. He stopped, just before the step that squeaked, and nearly turned around and fled out the door. 

But, human morbid curiosity got the best of him. He skipped the squeaky step, and pushed the door open into the flat. It was dark, but John didn't need a light to know that everything was as he left it.   
  
"What are you doing, Watson? Here to lick old wounds?"   
  
John walked past Sherlock's chair, trailing a finger over the cold material of it. John had never been able to understand how Sherlock liked that chair so much. When he sat down in a chair, he wanted it to be warm and inviting. Not cold and unforgiving with it's metal frame. He went to the window closest to the fireplace and looked out. His food hit something hallow and a noise echoed though the empty flat.

"Shit!"   
  
John used the flashlight on his phone to see that he had knocked over Sherlock's violin. John bent down and set the Violin back up against the wall. Just as he was straightening back up the light flicked on and Mrs. Hudson was staring at him with a shocked face and a frying pan raised almost above her head.  
  
"Oh! John." Mrs. Hudson put the pan down on the nearest surface and rushed to John, throwing her arms around him with such force that it nearly knocked him over. "Come on, luv. You look like you need a cuppa." With surprising strength Mrs. Hudson took John's hand in hers and lead him back down the stairs. 

He watched her go about making tea, and remembered all the mornings she'd come up with a tray of tea and nibbles. She placed a cup and a plate of jammy dodgers in front of him. John didn't even realize he was crying until Mrs. Hudson handed him a tissue.   
  
"There there, John. Best let it all out before you explode. It's alright you know, having feelings."  John nodded and took a deep breath.

"I should have called, let you know I was coming. Didn't realize it myself until I was halfway up the stairs." 

"John this is, and always will be, your home. You don't need permission to come here. Heaven knows I'd be thrilled to have you back." 

John nodded and stared into his teacup. He gave his head a little shake, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened again. "I can't... can't move back in. I'm sorry. I'll come back, tomorrow perhaps, and clean up the flat a bit. Some of his.. experiments...." John drank half of his tea in one sip. Feeling antsy, on edge, like he was back in Afghanistan waiting for the next suicide bombing or gunshot.

"Alright, dear. But why don't you stay the night?"

John shook his head and stood, placing his half empty cup on the table. "No. I can't. Its just... Too..."

"I know." Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on John's arm and looked up at him. "Stop by on your way up tomorrow, just so I know you're here."

John nodded, bent down and kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek. "I will. Thanks for the cuppa." Without waiting for a reply John turned on his heels and walked back out into the London air. On his way back home he stopped off at a liquor store. He purchased a bottle of single malt scotch and was soon back in his room sitting in the corner drinking in the dark.  
  
He deleted nearly a dozen messages from Greg and Mike, deleted the voicemail from Mycroft without listening to it, and shut his phone off. He didn't want to deal with their concern. After all, he wasn't broken. Right?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this alright, breaking it up like this? It will allow me to make the chapters a bit longer, which I think will be good! Especially seeing I'm about to dive into the good stuff.
> 
> When I say good stuff...
> 
> I mean... feels.


	7. 13th February, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't a blog entry. It is the start of John's downward spiral. 
> 
> Please don't hate me. There is a reason for my madness.

John woke up the next morning feeling like he'd gone to hell and back.  His mouth felt like sandpaper and the pounding in his head was almost too much to bear. Gingerly he stretched, his fingers felt something cold and hard. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled the empty scotch bottle out from under a pillow.  He sat up and forced himself to remember the previous night.  Only then did he notice that his laptop was on, and the menu screen for a movie was playing on a loop, the James Bond theme song pulsed through his head causing him to wince.

He had taken his time getting back home, arriving shortly before midnight. He sat himself down on his bed, thinking about how he needed to get a desk, and pulled out his laptop. Just opening the laptop brought painful memories.

"Is that my laptop?"

"Mine was in the bedroom"

"It's password protected!"

How Sherlock had always managed to guess his passwords baffled John. It was exceedingly embarrassing the time his password had been _"MyFlatmat3IsAPr1ck"_. John sat against the wall, placed his laptop on his lap and started browsing news sites. Headline after headline proved that the world hadn't forgotten about his former flatmate. **"Sherlock Holmes The Fake Detective."**

John took a sip from his glass and chanced to open the article.

**"Richard Brook, world renown children's actor..."**

John closed the tab. "They're all sodding idiots, the lot of them!" He opened the disc tray and gave a small smile when he saw From Russia With Love in the tray. He pushed the tray and let it retract back into the computer, settling himself against the wall he refilled his glass and started the movie.

He made it about halfway through the movie before he stopped bothering to refill his glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle. He didn't remember finishing the movie, nor did he remember finishing the bottle. But as Sherlock would say, the facts don't lie. There was an empty bottle, and the movie still on his laptop. He looked at his watch and frowned, it was 12:30. He wasn't in the mood to go back to Baker Street, but it needed to be done, and drawing it out wouldn't help.

John's head swam as he stood, and he had to reach out to the wall for support. It felt like all the pressure in his head was gathering up and swirling around his head like a storm. "Must have bloody blacked out, good job, Watson." He walked to the bathroom, each step more painful than the last.

He took one look at himself in the mirror and sighed. He had a weeks worth of stubble on his face, dark purple bags under his eyes, and he was in desperate need of a haircut. After a quick shower he stepped out feeling slightly refreshed. Walking back into his room he pulled his phone off his charger, momentarily wondering if he had made any marks on his phone while plugging it in drunk. He looked, but he wasn't able to tell if there were any new marks.

"Sherlock would know, probably tell me that the shinier the plastic the newer the mark..."

He pressed the side button on his phone and winced at the bright screen. Unread text messages flooded his screen, and there were two missed voicemails. "From Mycroft." He thought to himself. He opened his messages.

**Mike: I know you're not one for talking, and I know I haven't always been the best friend, but John, you're starting to scare me. Call me, or answer one of my bloody calls.**

**Mike: John what is going on?**

**Mycroft: John Watson! You've made me resort to texting, my patients are wearing thin. Get a grip of yourself, Man. Sherlock wouldn't want this.**

John actually laughed at Mycroft's text. "Ha! Wouldn't want this? See if I sodding care. Sherlock is dead, made me watch him kill himself. Forgive me for hurting." He closed the messages and called for a cab. He quickly got dressed and headed outside to wait for a cab, maybe the fresh air would do him some good.

Once at Baker Street he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door to let her know he was in the building.

"I'll bring you a cuppa, dear... Would you like something to eat? You've lost weight, John."

"Mm please." John shrugged, "haven't been eating much as of late."

"I understand, dear. Go on, I'll be up with you shortly. I opened the drapes, let some light in."

John walked slowly up the stairs, sounds of laughter and Sherlock's violin echoing through the empty hall. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open and swept his eyes over their home. Like last night everything was the same. Sherlock's aftershave still lingered in the air.

Fighting back a lump in his throat he walked into the kitchen. At some point, Mrs. Hudson had done their dishes, he'd have to remember to thank her for that. He didn't feel like washing moldy dishes. Reaching under the sink he pulled out a trash bag and opened the fridge. The fridge was cleaned of food, but Sherlock's experiments still remained. With a heavy heart John started chucking things into the bag in his right hand.

He closed the fridge and opened the freezer, the bag of fingers in the freezer was sitting on the shelf at eye level. As if mocking him, daring him to throw them out. He pushed them to the side and was tossing out some old frozen meat when Mrs. Hudson came up carrying a tray.

"You-who" she knocked on the door-frame. "Made you your favorite, and a nice cuppa to go with it." She sat down at the table and smiled sadly up at John. "How are you holding up dear?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Good." John avoided her eyes by hiding behind the teacup as he took a sip.

"John, I know fine. You're not fine. Don't patronize me."

"Mrs. H, I just can't talk about it. Everything I want to say... Well it's too late now. He's gone, I can't tell him."

"Sure you can.  You should, you know."

John shook his head and moved the food on his plate around with his fork.

"Write him a letter, John, place it on his grave. You'll feel better."

John just nodded and busied himself by making a show of eating his food. Mrs. Hudson graciously took the hint. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

John spent the next few hours going over the flat looking for things to throw out. He had to laugh at the places Sherlock left experiments. There was a container inside the fireplace with a label marked "Mrs. Hudson's meatloaf 9/10/11" in Sherlock's handwriting. John also found what appeared to be half an orange inside the deerstalker on the mantel.

The violin he had knocked over the night before caught his eye. Visions of Sherlock standing in the window playing for him flooded John and made him go weak in the knees. John picked up the violin and sat in his old chair. He was stroking the strings with his index finger when something caught his eye.

Billy, the skull on the mantel, appeared to have something plastic inside him. Leaning forward he placed the violin in Sherlock's chair and walked to the mantel. Picking up the skull he felt all the blood drain from his face. Inside was a baggie filled with a syringe and what appeared to be heroin.  With trembling fingers he picked up the baggie, stuffed it in his pocket, and placed Billy back on the mantel.

John sighed and looked around. The only room he hadn't cleaned had been Sherlock's room. While he was pretty sure he wouldn't find anything he walked over to look. He had only been in Sherlock's room a few times. Usually only when Sherlock had been drugged, or was sick. As he pushed opened the door he was hit by the overwhelming scent of Sherlock. It smelled like sweet tobacco and cinnamon. An idea hit him. He quickly walked back into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest ziplock bag he could find. Back in Sherlock's room he picked up the mouse colored dressing gown and placed it in the bag, sealing it up tight.

Suddenly the room seemed to close in around him and he hurried back into the sitting room. He eyed the stairs, thinking that a few extra changes of clothes wouldn't be a bad idea. His feet felt heavy as he walked up the stairs to his old room. He didn't look around, simply grabbed one if his bags, threw some clothes into it and carefully placed the bag containing Sherlock's dressing gown on top before zipping it up.

John slung the bag over his shoulder and without looking back, walked out of his room and down the stairs. Taking one last look at the sitting room his eyes fell on the booze cabinet. There was a bottle of aged whiskey he was particularly fond of. He carefully placed the bottle in his bag before placing it back on his shoulder. Walking out of the flat he stopped to say his goodbyes to Mrs. Hudson.

A quick look at his watch told him it was nearly 6. At this hour, it would take him the same amount of time to walk home as it would be to take a cab. Opting for the cheaper option he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and set off at a brisk pace.

Back in his room John silently unpacked. He placed the whiskey and Sherlock's dressing gown on the single shelf in his room. As he sat down on his bed he felt something digging into him through his pocket. He pulled out the bag and looked at it. Every part of him told him not to do it, but he knew it was too late. He knew that as soon as he had put the bag in his pocket he had made up his mind. He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a strip of elastic. Using his mouth he tied it just above the elbow of his right arm and waited. Soon the vein was protruding nicely, he picked up the syringe and with a sigh shoved it into his arm. The last thing he remembered before the high hit him was the sheer wonder at how steady his hands had been. Not even the slightest tremor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, to the few of you who have left comments! It keeps me going. I have a lot to tell with this fic, so stick with me. :) -Tindo


	8. 13th February, 2012 (Sherlock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we can see a little of what is going on in Sherlock's life.

He walked with his head bent, shoulders hunched and he had a slight limp. His clothes were thread bare. The cold winter air stung his face and chilled him too the bones. Sherlock took shelter against a tall building and sat on the cold hard ground. He had followed a lead from Germany to Paris.

Sherlock had reasons of his own to believe that a prominent businessman was Sebastian Moran's next target. So he had disguised himself as a beggar and positioned himself at a street corner where he had a clear view of the businessman's house. He expected Moran to make his move within the next three days. Until then, Sherlock would keep up his vigil. As he sat, the cold seeped through his clothes and he rubbed his hands for warmth.

A young man in a suit seemingly took pity on the poor beggar and dropped some rolled up money into the paper cup sitting on the ground near Sherlock. "Merci." Sherlock muttered. The man caught his eye and gave a curt nod. Sherlock's heart fluttered and it took all his willpower to not reach for the note that undoubtedly contained news of his precious London. And more importantly, of John.

The rest of Sherlock's watch was uneventful. It was around 8pm and everyone in the house was starting to settle in for the night. The street was empty save for Sherlock  and and another beggar who had settled down on a bench across the street. Sherlock stood, shoulders hunched, and spoke in perfect French.

"It was a cold hard day, hope you have somewhere warm to sleep."

The other man simply grunted in reply. Sherlock allowed a smile to play at his lips as he bent to collect his few meager belongings. Neither man was actually homeless. Sherlock had hired the other man to keep an eye on the house when he needed to get a few hours sleep. His message had informed his replacement that it had been a quiet day.

Sherlock moved silently through the streets of Paris. Once he was certain that he was not being followed he quickly made his way to the safe house his brother had set up for him. It was nearly 9:30 by the time he arrived and had drawn a warm bath for himself.

Soon he was soaking his cold aching body in the warm bath. He reached a long thin arm over the side of the tub and picked up the paper cup. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked out the rolled money, tossed the cup aside and separated the note from the money. The color drained from his face when his eyes fell upon two small words.

**“He’s using.”**

Sherlock balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the paper in the process. Smoothing the paper back out, he took in a deep breath and willed the paper to say something different. Crumpling the paper back up he cursed and threw it across the room. He was never wrong, well rarely wrong, but when it came to John Watson, it had always been more of a guessing game. One he usually won, but still. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and then, he wept. 

  
He pulled himself out of the tup when the water ran cold, half heartedly toweled himself off and walked into the small bedroom. He picked up his phone and rang his brother.

**“Sherlock, this had better be an emergency. I don’t need to tell you the risks.”  
**

**“Spare me the concern, Brother…”** Sherlock’s voice got deadly quiet, **“How could you let this happen?”**

**“Really, Sherlock, what are you on about?”  
**

**“John, Mycroft! John is using drugs!”**

**“And I’m supposed to stop him… how?”**

**“Talk to him, how the hell am I supposed to know?”**

**“Sherlock, the man just professed his love for his dead flatmate, how would talking help?”**  
  
Sherlock snorted in frustration  
  
 **“Mycroft, I need to tell him I’m alive.”**  
  
 **“Out of the question, Sherlock. You know the risks.”**

 **“Then DO something! Or make your lapdog Lestrade do something!”**  
  
**“Sherlock, he is out of my hands. What John Watson does with his life is his own doing. We’ve been on the phone too long. I’ll send your regards to mummy.”**  
  
**“And to John?”**

**“Goodnight, little brother.”**

**“My…”**  
  
 **“What now…”** Mycroft’s voice had a soft edge to it **“Locky”**

**“Could I see some of your CCTV footage?”**

The other line was silent for a moment, there was a sigh then Mycroft spoke. **“Fine.”**  
  
 **“Thank you.”**

Sherlock hung up the phone and picked up the tablet sitting by the side of the bed. He had no idea where John was living, but Baker Street was as good a place as any. He watched the feed, skipped random hours, jumped days, and was just about to give up when a figure in the dark pushed its way into 221 Baker Street. Sherlock’s heart fluttered. He knew it was John. He waited for the figure to leave the flat and followed him with the cameras.   
  
He followed John and watched him enter a liquor store.   
  
“Don’t do it… John..”   
  
A few minutes later John left the store with a paper bag tucked under his arm. Sherlock digitally tracked John until he arrived home. Sherlock memorized the address and fast forwarded, keeping a close eye on the house, watching, waiting for John to leave again. Around 9 the next morning an attractive blond walked out of the house, got into a car and drove off. All was still at the house until nearly 2.  
  
John walked out of the house, even though the quality of the CCTV Sherlock could tell that John looked like hell. He was thin and his hair had greyed substantially in the past few months. Sherlock felt a stab of guilt when he took in the sight of the man that used to be more solid than the giant rocks they had found at the moor in Dartmouth.

He spent the next few hours tracking John’s movements, tracking him taking the cab back to Baker Street, watched him carry a bag to the bins in the back of the flat, and watched him walk home with a bag over his shoulders.. He wished were able to see inside the flat, wished he knew what John had been doing. He could guess, and of course his guess would probably be right, but he hopped he was wrong. He watched John walk back home. He wanted to feel relieved that John didn’t stop off to buy alcohol, but he knew there was more than enough alcohol at Baker Street. The fact that John didn’t stop also meant he had gotten the drugs at Baker Street. And that was probably worse than if John had picked them up on the streets.

Sherlock fast forwarded the feed a few hours until he was current with real time. John hadn’t left the house, and Sherlock would have given anything to be a fly on John’s wall.   
  
He plugged the tablet in and propped it against the wall on his bed. Curling up under the blankets he forced himself to stop watching the house. “He won’t leave soon, not if he’s using, especially not if he’s using my stash.” After some trouble, Sherlock fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for their lovely comments! :)


	9. 14th February, 2012 (John)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Mrs. Hudson's advice and writes Sherlock a letter

  
  
As John withdrew the needle a rare warmth rushed over his body. It was like Christmas morning back at Baker Street with Sherlock playing his violin. John moved to the shelf and took Sherlock’s dressing gown out of the bag. He raised the garment to his face and inhaled. The drug had erased all traces of sorrow from John’s mind, so it was with a clear head that he took in his former flatmates scent. Traces of his aftershave, and the sweet cinnamon scent of Sherlock filled his nose.

In that moment of false happiness, John allowed himself to think about Sherlock. He wrapped the garment around his shoulders and let himself believe it was Sherlock’s arms around him instead. John moved to his laptop, opened up itunes and pulled up the playlist Sherlock had made for him. It was all of John’s favourite songs Sherlock had composed. Sherlock had made it as an apology for nearly blowing the flat up after a experiment went wrong.   
  
The music lifted John off his feet and Sherlock met him halfway, coming down from heaven to dance with his blogger on the clouds. John danced with Sherlock, burying his head into the detective's shoulder, the smell of cinnamon nearly burning his nose.  
  
“Why’d you have to leave?”  
  
“You know why, John.”  
  
John nodded into his shoulder. “To protect me.”  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock purred as he twirled John around their cloud.  
  
“Did it occur to you..”  
  
“Yes. Of course it did.”

“Sherlock.. did it occur to you that I didn’t need protecting. That I’d rather be dead than live without you.”

“John, it will all make sense, maybe not now, or tomorrow, or even soon. But I promise you, it will make sense. But for now, stop questioning things, and dance with me.” Phantom Sherlock flashed John one of his For-John-Only smiles and winked.

“You bastard.” John laughed and tightened his grip on his detective as they spun around the cloud.

After what seemed like both an age and mere seconds, the cloud started to thin and John felt the fingers of panic creeping through his body.  
  
“Don’t leave me!”  
  
“I have to go, John. Cases to be solved and such. Promise you’ll write to me, like Mrs. Hudson suggested. I’ll read your letters every night.”

“Yes, I promise, just don’t go. Take me with you!”

“Not yet, John.”  
  
John blinked and found himself kneeling on his floor arms outstretched to the heavens. The warm feeling was gone, Sherlock was gone, and he was alone again. His head swam and he knew that he’d be sick in a matter of moments. He rushed out of his bedroom and just made it to the bathroom in time to violently sick up.

John leaned over the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a mere shadow of his former self. He’d lost nearly 20 pounds in the last two months, his hair was mostly gray and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. That was mostly true, between nightmares he usually only slept a few hours a night. He quickly grew disgusted with his reflection, splashed water on his face and went back to his room.

John’s room was empty save for his bed, a small desk that Mary had given him, his wardrobe and the single shelf. The desk sat in front of the one window that looked out into the small yard. Against his better judgment he pulled the bottle of whiskey off his shelf and sat at the desk, rubbing at his temples. After a few moments he opened a drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He stared at the paper for a long while, sipping on a glass of whiskey, wondering what he should say.

 

_Sherlock,_

_I bloody hate you. You left me. Being alone hadn’t bothered me before we met. Alone was all I knew. I won’t say that I was fine before we met, but I was surviving. Now… look at me, I’m a bloody mess. Can’t even bring myself to show my face at work._

_I wish you had let me die that day instead of you. Watching you fall… Sherlock, that was harder than watching my army mates get shot at. I’ve seen death, and I’ve seen my friends die, I’ve had soldiers die while in my care. But you didn’t let me in, you didn’t let me help. I’m not… well, wasn’t, made out of glass. I wasn’t going to break. I could have helped! Friends protect each other… Then again, I suppose that is what you were doing. Protecting me… I guess I can’t hate you for that._

_I don’t believe it was suicide. I don't believe that even for a second. I don’t know what happened, up there on the roof, but something happened. Mycroft knows more than he’s telling me. Sherlock, watching you jump… watching your body fall off of St. Barts, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I have never felt more helpless in my life. No matter how fast I ran, I was too far away. Catching you wouldn’t have helped, but at least you could have died in my arms, not on the cold hard ground._

_I’m sorry, so sorry, that I refused to tell you how I honestly felt about you. I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. I didn’t want to mess up what we had. Looking back now, at how you managed to ruin every single date I ever had, I know now without a shadow of a doubt how you felt. And I’m sorry for being a blind idiot. I don’t hate you, Sherlock. I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you._

_I cleaned out Baker Street last night. Threw away most of your experiments. It killed me to do so, but I couldn’t leave them there. I left the fingers in the freezer though. I felt like they were mocking me, daring me to throw them out. I found the drugs you had hidden in the skull. Never understood why you used before, but now I know._

_I saw you just now, when I was high. We danced on a cloud and we talked. You told me there was a plan behind all of this. And while I know that is just my mind hoping that you’re not really dead, it felt so real, it gave me hope. You told me all of this will make sense._

_I’m afraid of life without you, Sherlock. I’m more afraid than angry. I don’t know what to do. Working at the clinic holds no appeal to me. I go in, listen to people complain about what’s wrong with them, all the while wondering what kind of case we’d be on. I’ll pick up a newspaper on my way home sometimes, and read about the newest arrests, and I’ll try to think like you, try to deduce things. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done well, but most of the time it just makes me miss you more._

_Not sure what to do with this letter now that I’ve written it. Maybe I’ll place it on your grave, let the wind take it where it would. Maybe I’ll throw it out. Maybe I’ll finish this bottle of whiskey and black out, never to wake up again. But, I fear that I’m not that lucky. I’m too much of a coward to kill myself… Maybe if I had my gun… I just want to see you again. I miss you so much it hurts. It’s like my chest is split in two, and I’ve got to some how hold myself together._

_Sherlock Holmes, for what it’s worth, I love you. Not in the… “You’re my best friend and I love you, Man.” type of way. More so in the “I was a sodding idiot, and I wish I could grow old with you at my side” way. I’d be happy for whatever type of relationship you gave me. Be it sexual or not, I just want you.. I just want to say you are mind. Were mine… Want to say you were mine. Regardless, Sherlock, I need to say this…. Wherever you are… I’m yours. Always have been, even though I was too daft to see it._

 

_With all of my soul,_

_Your blogger._

 

John refilled his glass and downed it all in one sip. He carefully folded the letter and stuffed it in an envelope. With a shaking hand, he wrote on the envelope “For my Idiot.” He placed the letter on his desk, shut his laptop off, and crawled into bed feeling properly exhausted.   
  
He woke late the next day, thoroughly shocked that he had slept through the night without dreaming. He sat up and spotted the letter on his desk. Deciding he wanted to place it on Sherlock’s grave he forced himself to get out of bed. After a quick trip to the loo he picked up the letter, deciding to go then before he lost his nerve.

Looking around his room he spotted his coat and started to put it on. He had the coat half on before he realized he was still wearing Sherlock’s dressing gown. He carefully took it off, folded it, and placed it on his pillow. Shrugging back into his coat he picked up his wallet, keys, and the letter and was just about to leave his room when his eyes fell on the needle. Feeling a little guilty he kicked it under his bed to deal with later.   
  
It was snowing out, and John didn’t relish the idea of walking in the snow, but he was low on cash. “Really need to get back to work, Watson.” He was walking past the sitting room when Mary looked up.

“Going out?”   
  
“Yeah… Was going… to his grave.”

Mary nodded sympathetically. “Need a ride? It’s nippy out.”

John was about to say no when Mary spoke again.

“Was about to go out anyway, need to do some shopping. It’s not a bother.”

“Uh… Sure. Thanks.”

They drove in silence and Mary stopped just down the street from the cemetery.   
  
“You’ll be ok for a half hour, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll meet you here.”  
  
John got out and watched as Mary drove off. It was snowing hard, when he turned and made his way to Sherlock’s grave. He hadn’t been here since the day he and Mrs. Hudson had buried him. He stood at the black gravestone for a few minutes before his knees gave out. Kneeling in the snow he wished he had thought to dress warmer.

Taking the gloves out of his pocket he put them on and carefully brushed the snow off of the gravestone and traced Sherlock’s name with his finger.

“Wish you were here, mate. You’d tell me to shut up and stop being an idiot. That there is no point in talking to the dead.”    
  
John moved on his knees until he was at the side of Sherlock’s grave and leaned against the cold stone.

“Remember the time you miss calculated on a case, and we ended up tied back to back sitting on the floor? I’m sorry I yelled at you. Sorry I got mad at you. It wasn’t your fault.” John sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing cold snow all over his face. He sat in silence for a while before remember to check his watch.

“Mary will be here soon. You’d like her, Sherlock. I’d like her, if I let myself.”   
  
John stood and brushed another inch of snow off the stone.

“I’ll come back, I promise. I wont wait so long next time.”

He bent down and placed the letter against the grave.   
  
“How fitting, the snow will ruin the letter. Guess better that way, no one will get a chance to read it.”

Without looking back John turned and started walking back to where he was sure Mary would be waiting for him. Looking up from the ground John was startled to see he wasn’t alone. Not too far off a homeless man was leaning against a large gravestone, trying to keep out of the snow that was now coming down hard. John had a few dollars in his wallet so he walked over to the man and handed it to him.  
  
“Go get yourself a coffee mate, it’s bloody cold out.”

The man smiled a toothless smile up at him and nodded his thanks before nodding in the direction John had just come from, speaking with a lisp.

“Thorry for your loth.”  
  
John nodded and shoved his hands in his pocket before hurrying to meet Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter... I actually made myself cry writing it. 
> 
> *David Tennant voice*
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.


	10. 14 February, 2012 (Sherlock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least Sherlock remembers that it's Valentines Day!

It was still dark out when Sherlock's alarm woke him at 5:30. His tired eyes opened and fell upon his tablet, reminding him of John's activities the night before. He rewound the footage from the night and felt slightly reassured that John hadn't left that night. Getting up out of bed Sherlock pulled the sheet up with him and grabbed his phone.

On his way to the loo he flicked opened his messages. There were no new texts, which wasn't surprising, not many people knew he was still alive. He needed to keep an eye on John while he was out today, and he knew exactly how to do it. He sent a text off to one of the members of his homeless network, some of them had helped ensure Sherlock's safety back in November and had offered to help in the future.

**"Arnold, I need you to track John for me today. Follow him and report back to me tonight. Do not interfere."**

Sherlock sent his lackey the address and turned his phone back off and entered his room.. Sherlock looked out the window and groaned, the snow promised to make today exceptionally cold. Only a few more days of this, if he was correct, and he always was. He dressed in his warmest beggars clothes, placed his phone in a waterproof pocket and walked down the stairs. A short housekeeper greeted Sherlock as he sat at the table and picked up the morning paper.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Holmes. Your brother has left a message for you."

Sherlock took the piece of paper and scanned it while sipping on the coffee the housekeeper had set in front of him.

"I suppose it would kill you to have Earl Gray in the building." He looked the note over and scoffed. The message was coded, that way only Sherlock would receive the message. The housekeeper was trustworthy, but the less she knew the better.

 _"Under no circumstances should you return to London. John is no longer your concern, brother mine. Focus on the job at hand."_ Per usual, the note was written on flash paper, so Sherlock withdrew the lighter from his pocket and set the edge of the paper on fire and let go. He watched as the flame engulfed the paper and seconds later it was gone.

"Like I would..." Sherlock scoffed as he scowled at his coffee. After a quick breakfast Sherlock nodded his thanks to the housekeeper and stood up from the table. Assuring himself that his wallet was safely tucked away in a hidden pocket he walked to the closet and picked out a pair of gloves and a long hand knit gray scarf.

Sherlock spent the day wet and cold, with only a few breaks to seek out warmth at a random coffee shop or to find a public bathroom. Each time he was certain he was alone he would check his phone, hoping for some news from London. “Not of John… of London.” He’d tell himself, trying to convince himself that was all it really was.  
  
The day was a strange one. There were lots of couples out and about. More than normal. It wasn’t until he heard one couple laughing about how it was Valentine's Day that he remembered the date. Fitting that John would profess his love for him just before the date of the most romantic holiday.

After a bit of excitement, which turned out to be a false alarm, with his unknowing client Sherlock finally allowed himself to go back to the safe house around 10 that night. He was cold, miserable and starving. He had gotten himself into a somewhat normal eating habit, knowing that at any moment he might have to run, not knowing when his next meal would come.

As he walked up to the safe house he noticed that there was a light on where the sitting room was. On full alert he entered the house, prepared to flee at any moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his man Arnold sitting on the sofa warming himself by the fire.  
  
“Ah, Mither, Holmeth.” He said with his usual lisp. “Did ath you asthed…. Followed John.”  
  
“Yes?” Sherlock’s heart was racing. He wasn’t sure why Arnold would have traveled all the way here just to give him the report.  
  
“He lethed thith at your grave.” Arnold stood, unbuttoned his jacket and handed Sherlock a slightly battered envelope, though the seal was intact.

“You brilliant man…” Sherlock quickly calculated how much the man had spent to reach him at Paris so quickly and went to retrieve some money. He handed the cash to the man and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Go get yourself something warm to eat, Madame Renard makes a fantastic roast, and if my nose is correct, one should be just about ready.”

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time and was soon sat on his bed, fingers trembling. He would get a full account of the day soon enough, but for now he could think of nothing else but the contents of the envelope.  The letter had some slight water damage, from the snow most likely, but it was still legible. He pressed the paper to his nose and inhaled deeply, allowing a small smile to creep over his face. The paper still smelled like John, of tea and musk. Turning his attention back to the words he forced himself to read the letter slowly, taking in one word at a time. He read the letter over fully three times before he let himself process it.

John’s despair nearly broke Sherlock. Never before had he heard John’s raw thoughts in such a fashion. He had always been able to guess them with surprising accuracy, but John never ventured them out loud. He laughed when John mentioned leaving the fingers in the freezer, cried when John told him he was using drugs. He closed his eyes, imagining them really dancing together, laughing and talking all the while.

Sherlock made a mental note to thank Mycroft for taking John’s gun away from him. He knew that would be John’s choice of suicide, and figured Mycroft knew that as well. John was a medical man, knew what it actually took to kill oneself with a blade.

Sherlock traced his fingers over the words “I love you,” and, “Your blogger.” He wished he could run his hands over John’s face and tell him he’d be back soon. It took him a few moments to calm his breathing and wipe the tears from his eyes before he finally walked back down the stairs in search of something to eat.

Arnold was at the table, eating small chunks of meat and sucking down a cup of steaming hot tea.  
  
“Ahhh. I see you bought tea. My thanks, Madame Renard.” The somewhat plump woman smiled at him and placed a plate and cup of tea in front of him. Sherlock talked between bites.

“Arnold, I have a permanent job for you, if you’ll have it.” The man raised an eyebrow and nodded at Sherlock. “Good man. I need you to keep a close eye on John Watson. I might not always have internet, so knowing that someone is keeping an eye on him will be a load off my mind. There are some rules, of course…”

Sherlock stopped and sipped at his tea, letting out a low moan as the hot liquid warmed his insides.

“It seems like John has set his mind on drugs. I know John well enough to know that once he has his mind made up, only he can change it. Well…other than myself, only he can. As I cannot reveal myself right now, we’ll have to let him ride this out. This is where you come in. I need you to gather some of the others in our little network. I need to be assured that John is being supplied with clean drugs. If you are not sure, bring it to Molly Hooper at St. Barts, have her test it. I cannot risk John contracting a disease because of his newfound habit.”

The man across the table nodded and looked thoughtful. “Tho, when I hath new infomathion…”  
  
“I will find a way to contact you, relay where I am. Any new information on John, be it a change in habit or anything however small it seems, you are to come tell me in person. Bringing me this letter… it was… good.” Sherlock sighed and took a few more bites. “I will see to it that you have enough money to reach me wherever I am.” A thought came to him and he looked at Arnold with peircing eyes.  “If you are here, who is watching John?”

“My lad, Thamuel.”

“Ahh, ok.” Sherlock relaxed and nodded. “Samuel is a good lad, I trust him to keep out of sight. Right, so when you come to me, have your son watch John. You’ll both be paid well.”

“Thank you, Mither Holmeth.”

After their meal Sherlock saw the man out, instructing him to proceed with utmost caution. Sherlock showered quickly and crawled into bed. He Flicked on his tablet and watched John as he and the blond woman drove in the direction of the cemetery. He watched John until he was back at home, propped the tablet up like the night before and fell into a fitful sleep.

Waking the next morning he decided to check John’s blog for updates. He felt a pang of disappointment when he saw the last update had been on the 12th. He readied himself for the day, packed his meager belongings, as he was sure today or tomorrow would be his last day in Paris, and headed out the door.

 

 


	11. 27th February, 2012 10:45 P.M. (John)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we again see John. He's hiding his addiction well. If you were to ask him, he would even tell you, with a smile on his face, that he was fine.

27th February, 2012 10:45 P.M.

Right… After my last entry, I owe everyone an apology. I’m doing a little better. I’ve even gone back to work. Worked Wednesday - Friday last week and then again today. I’m even looking forward to work tomorrow. It’s nice, having something to keep my mind busy. Seems like I’ve settled myself into a routine now. I get up early each morning, make myself a cuppa and head out with Mary.

She drops me off at the cemetery and I spend a few minutes wish Sherlock before walking the rest of the way to work. Sometimes there is a homeless man near the cemetery. I’ll bring him a cup of tea and a pastry when I see him.

Mary and I are getting on well too. She’s turned into a good friend, and I’m comfortable enough now to move around the house. Don’t just hide in my room like a scared animal. She can’t cook for shit so I’ve been doing most of the cooking around the house.

I still miss Sherlock. I don’t think that will ever change. I think being honest about my feelings for him have helped me.

**Comments:**

**Greg: Happy to hear you say this, Mate. Haven’t heard from you in a while, was starting to fear the worst.**

**John: Sorry, Greg. Guess I just needed time. How bout we meet at the pub this weekend?**

**Greg: Sounds good! Get back to you on the time.**

**Harry: Johnny!!! I’ll be in town this weekend. Let me take my brother out to lunch!**

**John: Sure, Harry, sounds good. Text me the details.**

_[Unsent] Sherlock: John… Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but something is wrong. Write me another letter… This one doesn’t smell like you anymore._

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

John shut his laptop and sighed. It was late, he knew he should go to bed. But he couldn't go to bed without seeing Sherlock. He plugged his phone in and made sure his alarm was set for the morning.

His new routine was this.

He would walk home from work, telling Mary that he enjoyed the fresh air. On the way home, he would stop and buy a small supply of drugs at a little hole in the wall. He had found the place completely on accident. It had been a little over a week ago, closer to a week and a half. John had just run out of the heroin he had taken from Baker Street and was on his way to see if he could find more when he actually heard a deal go down. He had some cash on him and plucked up the courage to go inquire about the drugs.

"What are you, a copper?" The man eyed him suspiciously.

"Uh, no. Just a man who's used up the last of his first bit of heroin." John laughed nervously. "Not sure how to go about this. I... Overheard, sorry, couldn't believe my luck."

"Do you got cash on Ya?"

"Well, yes."

The man stuck out his hand and grinned as John shook it.

"Names… uh… Sid, glad to do business with Ya, guv'na!"

Now John was seeing Sid every few days, which was the real reason for having to go back to work. This was not a cheap habit.

After arriving home from work each night, John would help Mary by cooking dinner. Some nights they would sit in silence at the table, others they'd sit and giggle over crap Telly while eating. Mary always let John decide which it would be.

After dinner John would head upstairs shower, shave, and pour himself a drink of whatever he had handy. After he heard Mary go to bed he would reach for the drugs.

Tonight was no different. They had spent the evening eating while watching the weather. There was a snowstorm expected the next day, and it was all London could talk about. Half the businesses had already shut down in anticipation. John himself half expected to wake up to a message saying the clinic was closed.

John sat at his desk, staring at his closed laptop. After a short while he heard Mary's door close. He reached for the drugs and sat on his bed. He rolled up the sleeve of his night shirt, found his vein and pushed plunger on the syringe.

He looked up from the syringe as he placed it in his medical bag and smiled. Sherlock was sprawled on his bed, wearing his mouse colored dressing gown, patting the bed beside him.

"Won't you join me?"

"Oh god yes!"

Sherlock let out a laugh and opened his arms as John curled up on his chest. "Mmmm that's better." The detective purred as he wrapped his warm arms around John. "Those three words, John, they hold so much meaning for us."

"It's when I realized I'd be ok... That my life wasn't over, all because of you, Sherlock."

"I take full responsibility." Sherlock played his long fingers through John's hair. "You haven't written me another letter. Why not?"

"Well..." John shrugged into Sherlock's chest while twirling a curl around his finger, "you've been here every night. There hasn't been a reason too."

"I quite enjoyed your last letter though, I read it every night before I fall asleep."

"Oh really?" John chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows, "wonder what else you do before you fall asleep." John leaned down and rubbed his nose against Sherlock's.

The detective let out a giggle and in one swift movement grabbed John's hips and rolled over so John was beneath him. Sherlock pressed his lips against John's gently before capturing John's moan with his mouth.

"What? Do you like that or something?"

"Git, of course I do." John pulled Sherlock's head down and devoured his mouth. After a long while like this Sherlock pulled away and looked at John while cupping his face with his long fingers.

"I have to go soon, John. I want to watch you fall asleep in my arms, please?"

John sighed and pulled his lips away from Sherlock's. "Can't you stay?"

"Not tonight, John." Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John sighed and cut him off.

"Cases to solve, I know..." John rolled over onto his side and looked at Sherlock. "Until tomorrow then?"

Sherlock leaned on an elbow and brushed John's hair off his face. "Yes, my blogger, tomorrow. Go to sleep." He peppered John's face with kisses before nuzzling his face into John's neck.

"Mmmm... Night." John closed his eyes and fell asleep, only vaguely aware that the weight of Sherlock was slowly dissipating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your comments. They make me smile and get back to writing if I've being distracted by tumblr or crack vids.


	12. 28 February, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> updating from my phone. ;) I'll double check that it doesn't look like shit later when I get home from work

The alarm woke John out of a dreamless sleep. He slammed his hand down on the alarmclock hard enough to hurt. John ached all over and upon looking at his hand he saw that he had managed to cut himself on the hard plastic corner of his alarm clock.

It was 5 O’clock in the morning, and still pitch black out. John wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and forget that the day existed. There was a quiet knock at the door and the doorknob started turning. After a moment of panic John relaxed, remembering that he had not left and incriminating evidence out in the open. Glancing down at his right arm he quickly tugged his sleeve all the way down and pretended to be just waking up.

“John?” Mary’s soft voice broke through the quiet darkness.

“Mmm?” John rolled over and propped himself up a little.  
  
“Just wanted to say, go back to sleep. Sarah just called, they closed the clinic. Look outside at the snow.”

John rubbed his eyes and sat up a little, leaning over the far end of his bed to peer out the window. There was already a substantial amount of snow on the ground and it was still falling with a vengeance.

“Get some more sleep, we’ll make pancakes when you wake up.” She shut the door and her footsteps told him that she had gone back to her room. John settled himself back in bed and was just teetering on the edge of sleep when his alarm clock went off again. He grabbed the plug and yanked, didn’t want to risk hitting snooze again.

When John woke he had no sense of time. It was still dark out, and there was more snow on the ground than he could remember ever seeing in London. He pushed the side button on his watch and groaned when the screen lit up. It was only 9 A.M. John pulled himself out of bed and sat down at his desk, not ready to face the day.  He pulled out a pen and some paper and stared at it for a good long while.

_28 February, 2012_

_Sherlock,_

_I wont be able to visit you today. At least not any time soon. It’s snowing harder than I’ve ever seen it snow here in London. Perhaps I got too accustomed to the heat of Afghanistan. This cold is killing my shoulder.  Work got cancelled today, because of the snow. It’s almost as if London hasn’t seen snow before. Everyone’s gone into panic mode_.   
  
_I lied in my blog last night. I’m sure if you were alive you would have guessed as much. I said things were fine, that I was fine. I’m not, Sherlock. I don’t even want to admit to myself how bad things truly are. I told you in my last letter that I used your supply of drugs. Well, I’ve kept at it, haven’t stopped. Even found a guy to sell to me._

_I feel like I can't go a day if I haven't shot up. It's not even the heroin that I'm addicted too. It's seeing you that has me going back for more each day. Most night we just sit and talk. Not really about anything in particular, just life. Some nights, like last night, I'll actually get to cuddle with you._

_Not sure what I'll do today, Mary suggested we make pancakes. But I can't... Just thinking about it reminds me of the time I tried making pancakes while you were in the kitchen experimenting. I still swear that you tripped me on purpose, just so you could wipe flower off my bum._

_Maybe I should be social, eat breakfast with her. I'm afraid that if I spend the whole day cooped up in my room I'll end up doing something stupid. Like using what I have left... And while I would love to spend the day with you, the medic in me knows the dangers all too well._

_I wish you were here. I could use your input on my sister. She said that she'll be in town this weekend and that she wants to see me. I just can't decided if she wants to see me for the sake of seeing me, or to see if I can lend her money.  I haven't seen her in ages. Didn't even get so much as a sympathy card from her when you died. And now all of a sudden she's waltzing back into my life? How long this time, I wonder..._

_I took your tan dressing gown when I went to Baker Street. I've been wearing it to bed and around the house. Having your scent around me has helped keep me from feeling lonely. It stopped smelling like you though. It's been away from you and from Baker Street too long. If the snow lets up, and if they plow, I might walk to Baker Street and find another article of yours to pilfer. If I'm lucky, maybe Mrs. Hudson will be home. You know, I've yet to find a better cup of tea in all of London than hers? I might brave the knee deep snow just for a cuppa!_

John scrubbed his hand over his face and looked down at the mostly filled paper. He should feel silly, perhaps even embarrassed, that he was writing to his dead friend. But instead he felt a stronger sense of normality than he had felt in ages. Maybe his therapist was right, maybe talking about it did actually help.

_I know this sounds insane, ridiculous even, but I wish we had cremated you. I hate the thought of your body in the cold ground. If it didn't make me look like a total nutter, I might actually put a blanket around your grave._

_And on that note, I think I heard Mary. Maybe pancakes isn't such a bad idea after all. There won't be a mess at least_

_-Your Blogger_

 

He folded the note, placed it in an envelope and again wrote "To my Idiot" on the front. Looking around his room and making sure that all was in order John got stood and walked down into the kitchen.  

After breakfast John and Mary sat at the picture window in the sitting room, sipping on tea and watching the snow fall  

“Have you ever seen this much snow at once?” John asked while watching a plow go by.

Mary laughed, “Yes. I spent a few winters n America. Believe it or not, this is normal in some parts.”

“America?” John raised his eyebrows and look up at Mary from over his teacup.

“Mmhmm, business.” After a moment of silence Mary spoke up again. “I hope you don’t think I’m intruding, John.” her voice was as soft as if she were talking to a timid animal. “How are you? How are you really?”

John stiffened in his chair and pretended to find something across the street very interesting.

“Sorry, John… I don’t mean to pry.”

“Chris, Mary! If anyone needs to apologize, it's me. Here you are just trying to be a decent friend and I’m being a prick.”

“You aren’t being a prick…”

“I’m…” John pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat, “yeah. I’m coping.”

“It gets better. I should know. I’ve lost someone too you know,” John looked at her in surprise. “Both parents at once. Not saying that for sympathy, just... I’m here if you want to talk.” Mary stood and collected the empty teacups. “You know what we need? Bread, we need some homemade bread.”

John looked at her and smiled. “That sounds lovely, everyone at work says you make the best bread. I think, while you do that, I’ll go for a walk. The roads seem clear enough.”

Mary nodded knowingly and smiled. “I bet he would love to know just how much you visit.”

“You never met him, if he knew, he’d tell me I was an idiot wasting my time on the dead.”

John went back up to his bedroom and got dressed. Donning his coat he picked up the letter and carefully put it in his pocket. As he was about to leave his room his eyes fell on Sherlock’s scarf and coat. He picked up the scarf and wrapped it around his neck, just like Sherlock had worn it.  The material was soft and warm, he could almost imagine that it was Sherlock, brushing up against him.

John stepped outside and pulled the scarf up over his nose. It was bitterly cold. The normal damp of London had turned into a fridge damp that chilled his body to the bone. Regardless, never once did John think to stay home. He wanted to see Sherlock, and that was final.

Just before the cemetery John stopped off at one of the only Cafe’s that had bothered to open. As he was ordering his tea he thought of the homeless man who hung out in the cemetery for protection from the wind. He ordered a second cup and a bag of pasties. By the time he arrived at Sherlock’s grave his legs were soaked from wading through knee high snow. Looking around he spotted the toothless man a few rows over and trudged up to him.

“Here, its not much, but it’s still warm.” John handed over the pastries and tea.

“Thank you thir.”  
  
“Name’s John, Don’t you have somewhere warm to go? A shelter perhaps?”

“Yeth, but the thelter is full. I’ll thleep there thonight. Thank you.” The man gratefully took the tea and hummed as he sipped on the warm liquid. John nodded and turned, following his footsteps back to Sherlock’s grave sipping on his own cup of tea.

He knelt in the snow for a few moments, reading the inscription. All it said was “Sherlock Holmes.” Mycroft had let John pick out the stone, but wouldn’t let John have any say on the inscription. It didn’t say “Loving Son” or anything that a gravestone usually said. Not even his day of birth.

“I’d write on it, loving flatmate, if I could.” John moved closer, pressing his head against the cold stone. “I hate that it’s blank. You were so full of information, don’t see why it should be blank.”

John stayed like that until his shoulder could stand the cold no more.

“I’ve got to get back home. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” He dug into the snow a little, making a little hole and placed the envelope in it. “I love you, Sherlock.”

Stuffing his cold hands into his pocket he walked out towards the road, heading home, hoping he’d be able to find a cab.


	13. 30th March, 2012

Sherlock had been on the run for nearly a month. One of the members of Moriarty’s network had shown up on the map in Eastern Asia. It had been a long month for Sherlock. He hadn’t stayed in one place long enough to get a message from Arnold. He watched John on the CCTV as often as he could, and read John’s blog whenever there was an update. But those were coming far and few between now.

Sherlock had been in his new location for two nights now. Mycroft saw to it that Arnold had a ticket on the next flight out, and had assured Sherlock he would be there soon. Mycroft had said “If you’re going to insist on this, at least let me help.”

Arnold had just left an hour ago to go back home to London. The second he had left, Sherlock had rushed to his room and poured over John’s letter. It had been so long out of his possession that it didn’t smell like John anymore.

After reading John’s letter several times over Sherlock laid in his bed and reminded himself of all the reasons why he couldn’t just pack up and head back to London this very instant.

Sherlock sat down at his makeshift desk and read John’s letter one more time, making sure to memorize every word. If anything were to happen and he was captured, John’s words would be his only saving grace. He sat in his char, long thin fingers steepled under his chin. He knew the chances of his survival were slim. Slim yes, but that did mean there was a scenario where he came out of this alive and could returned to Baker Street. And John.

Sherlock prided himself in not being an emotional person. It was all about cold hard facts for him. And there were few facts or reasons of logic to be found in emotions. He always knew that he felt something stronger than mere friendship with John, but never allowed himself to indulge on these feelings.

Regardless of his outlook, these past few days had been trying on Sherlock. He had been on the run, bouncing from place to place, nearly having been discovered after uncovering a counterfeit gang in Germany. He had to be more careful, and that meant he needed to stop pining over John Watson. John was out of his hands now. Aside from an impromptu trip to London, which would ensure Moriarty’s network would find him, Sherlock’s hands were tied.  However, he would feel better knowing that his brother could keep a weather eye on John. He picked up his phone and typed a message to Mycroft.

**Sherlock: Are you alone?**

**Mycroft: Yes. I am at the Diogenes Club. What is it now, Sherlock?**

**Sherlock: It is John.**

**Mycroft: Sherlock, do I need to remind you that John is beyond your control?**   
  
**Sherlock: That is why I’m texting you, Mycroft! Are you aware that John is on drugs?**

**Mycroft: It has come to my attention, yes.**

**Sherlock: And You’ve done nothing?**

**Mycroft: Brother mine, it is imperative that you forget about John.**

**Sherlock: I can’t just forget about him! He’s on a course for self destruction. He’s using drugs to see ME when he’s high. Soon he’ll realize that he’ll need something stronger to get the desired effect.**

Sherlock could practically hear Mycroft’s sigh from where he sat. Mycroft’s text came a few minutes later.

**Mycroft: I will pass on an anonymous tip to Lestrade’s division.**

**Sherlock: Thank you, Brother.**

Sherlock placed his phone in the inside coat pocket and sat in thought. There were four possible ways to proceed. Sherlock hadn’t heard from, or about, Moran since Paris. This unnamed assailant had only shown up on the grid 10 days ago. The facts were few, and Sherlock’s trusted contacts fewer. He was relatively alone, in a country where he spoke little of the language.

The facts where this. His assailant had first emerged in North Korea, 3 days later one of Sherlock’s former contacts had mysteriously disappeared. Now7 days later he appeared again, this time in Mongolia. Sherlock had sent a message ahead of him to his local contact with a warning.  He needed to find a way to stop this man, and keep his identity a secret.

Now that Sherlock knew that Mycroft was aware of the situation with John, Sherlock allowed himself a smile and threw himself into his work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter isn't quite up to par. I wasn't quite sure what to do with Sherlock's side, to be honest. So... I bullshited my way though it.


	14. 1st April 2012 - 11th April, 2012

**1st April 2012**

Over the past two weeks John had noticed something unfortunate. He now needed to use nearly double the amount of heroin as before to see Sherlock. He had realized, of course, that his body had started to gain a tolerance for the drug. It was getting harder and harder for him to continue living the facade of a normal life. The more frequent use of drugs left John irritable and always itching for a high. He was no longer addicted for the simple sake of seeing Sherlock.

Mary had accidentally walked in on him while he was changing after a shower this morning. John was certain that she had seen the needle marks that now covered his arms. She had left for work in a hurry shortly after.  John knew he couldn't stay here anymore, couldn't face Mary, couldn't face being kicked out. After that encounter he had called work, made up a story about his sister needing help and told them he needed the summer off. Sarah was understanding, she knew all about Harry and her problems with alcohol.

As he shoved the last of his belongings into his two travel bags John looked around the room. He knew he should leave Mary a note but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know where he would go, he didn't care. He carefully took Sherlock's coat and scarf down and placed them inside a plastic bag. If he were to be homeless, he couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to Sherlock's coat. He stuffed them into the bottom of his bag and zipped both bags up with some trouble. His bags were full. He had planned ahead and thought of everything he would need for life on the streets.

He shouldered his bags and slipped out through the back door. The few people who saw him, the better. He walked to the cemetery and nodded to the homeless man who had now become as familiar as Sherlock's grave. Readjusting the bags on his shoulder he made his way down the muddy path to the black tombstone.

"I came to say goodbye, Sherlock. I can't do this anymore, I can't live a lie. I'm not fine, I'm not. I haven't been. It's all just a facade." John was yelling, his words echoing through the cemetery. "Why the hell did you leave me.  Selfish prick! No more letters, no more visits. I’m… going off the grid.” John crouched and traced a finger along the gold letters of Sherlock’s name. He stayed there for a while before standing, clearing his throat and turning around.

The homeless man was gone. “Must have scared him off with my yelling… Maybe I’m the selfish prick.” Walking out of the cemetery with a foggy head, John had no idea where he should go. His feet started taking him towards where he and Sid would meet up.

“I’ll get what I need, then figure out the rest from there.”

After a short while John was knocking on the door of a dilapidated building. Sid popped his head out and relaxed when he saw John, but then eyed him suspiciously when he saw the bags.

“You on the run, Guv’na?”

“Hm? Well, No… Just… need to get away.” John shrugged and sid nodded.

“Where ya off to then?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far ahead, to be honest.”

Sid looked thoughtful then held up a finger for John to wait. About twenty minutes later, just as John was about to walk away, the door opened.

“I’ve talked with my people. We’ve decided you should stay here. Could use a little army protection, and in exchange you’ll get a roof over ya head, and we’ll see what else we can do.”

“Army? I never told you I was in the Army”

“Nah, but I’ve got a bag just like yours from my days.” Sid pointed to John’s bag.

John nodded and relaxed. “If I take your offer, am I free to leave whenever I see fit?”

“We wont keep ya here by force, if that’s what ya asking.”

“Right.” John nodded and stepped into the building.

  
  


♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

  
  


**11th April, 2012 11:30 P.M.**

 

John had settled into his new role of protector with ease. In return, he was given shelter, a share of whatever food was available, and more drugs than any man could ever use in a lifetime. The once strong and sturdy figure that was once John Watson was now thin and frail. He was still a man that should not be trifled with, but he was hardly recognizable.

It was late at night, and John was sitting by the door doing a line of coke while making sure no unwelcome visitors entered. He was startled by a loud noise that came from upstairs. It started as a thud, then scuffling feet followed by shouting. After finding his feet he made his way up the stairs as quickly as he could.

Two of the younger members of their little group were fighting. The bigger of the two men, Anton had Felix in a headlock while trying to pry something out of his hand.

“Oi! What the bloody hell is going on here?” John did his best to look bigger than he really was and walked over to the men. Anton looked up at John but said nothing.

“I asked what was going on, either you tell me. Now. Or I’ll separate the two of you, and I wont be gentle about it.” John’s voice was deadly quiet. Anton released his grip on Felix causing the smaller man to fall to the floor.

“I’ll deal with you after. Go take a walk, cool off.” John looked to Anton while pointing to the door. John knelt and rolled Felix onto his back to examine him. Felix had a small wound on his temple and a split lip, nothing major. John gently slapped his face a few times and the man woke up gasping for breath.

“Felix, can you tell me what happened?” John helped the man sit up and sent someone to get a glass of water and some clothes.

“He wanted my drugs, Captain. Asked me for them, when I refused, threatened me. I told him we’d take it up with you, and that’s when he grabbed me and choked me.” Felix reached for the glass that was handed to him. From the smell, John knew it wasn’t water.

John tended to the cut on the man’s forehead and stood back up, offering a helping hand to Felix.

“Right, go to my room, you’ll stay there for the night. Don’t need anything else happening. My watch is over at midnight. And get yourself some water, booze won't do you any good after being choked to death.”

“A’right, Captain.”

John raked a hand through his hair as he walked back to the front door. Maybe he was getting too comfortable with this lifestyle, he had even started to like it. When John moved in, everyone looked to him for guidance. He had instilled a sense of order to the place. And for the most part, nothing happened. People just came in and used whatever their drug of choice was. Sometimes they stayed, sometimes they left and went back to whatever life they had.  He allowed himself a brief moment to wonder what Sherlock would think of his new life before he went back to the lines of coke he had waiting for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I have been able to somewhat portray how far gone John is.


	15. 1st May, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally... we see just how far John has fallen. 
> 
> (Also, I typed most of this on my iPad. My iPad hates me, and changes words on me all the time. So if you notice something off... please feel free to alert me to the problem. Chances are it was just my iPad being a dick.

John hadn't stepped a foot outside in almost two weeks. When he had first moved in John had been known to go for walks or offered to help find food. Now he refused to leave for any reason. If he wasn't at his post by the front door he could heard muttering to himself in his room, shaking like a leaf, rocking back and forth over his stash of drugs.   
  
Sid, the person who used to be in charge, had died of an overdose. Max had taken over and had brought in a whole new line of drugs, and set of rules. Nothing was free, and everything he did had an ulterior motive. Max accepted any form of payments. The woman, and some men, usually chose sexual favors as their form of payment, most being too drugged up or weak to work.  
  
John had made a deal with Max. He was in charge of keeping things in order in their building, and also of making sure unwelcome visitors stayed away.  In return he received a small, but steady supply of whichever drug was the most available. Meth was John's favorite. It was the only thing strong enough to allow him to still see Sherlock.   
  
On those nights he would go up to his room, lock the door, lay Sherlock's coat on his makeshift bed and sit and talk with Sherlock until his high subsided. Sherlock was always sad, asking John if it was worth the price. John would refuse to answer the question, instead he would pull at Sherlock's head and kiss him as if Sherlock was the air he required to live.  
  
John had just finished his work for the day so he went off to find Max for his daily payment. Max was sitting on the steps smoking God knows what. He was a big burly, tattooed young man. He was covered in piercings, probably from head to toe.   
  
"All's finished for the day, sir."  
  
"Ahh thank you, Captain." Max looked up and tossed John a small bag full of white powder. John looked at it with disappointment. Max chuckled. "Not what you were hoping for? Don't think I haven't noticed what you prefer. Gotta make you work extra for that."  
  
John leaned his thin frame on the doorjam.    
  
"Extra, sir?"  
  
"Mmhmm."  
  
"What... Sort of extra work?" John scratched at the inside of his left elbow.   
  
"Use your imagination, Captain. I bet that you're a freak in the sack." Max winked at him, stood and snuffed out the joint with his foot. "I'll let you think it over. Find me when you've made up your mind. We both know the urge is too strong for you to resist."  
  
Max slapped John's arse as he walked away, laughing heartily. John stayed where he was for a good half hour, shaking from head to toe. When Felix spoke John was so lost in thought that he nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
"He's gentle, Captain. He likes you, maybe you'll get off easy the first time ‘round,” Felix shrugged, “he likes blowjobs."  
  
The thought made John sick to his stomach, he bent over the doorframe and threw up violently all over the steps. He quickly made his way to his room, ignoring questions from the people who had started viewing him as their leader. Once in his room he shut the door behind him, leaned against it and slid down it until he was sitting against the door.

He stared at his shaking hands for some time before hitting the back of his head against the door, staring up at the ceiling. He fished the bag of powder out of his pocket, poured some in his hand. He stuck his face in his palm, and inhaled deeply.

“Sherlock, where the fuck are you?” John’s now balled fist slammed into his leg with enough force to hurt. “You can’t be alive, you’d never let this happen, never let me do this. Fuck you.”

John’s shoulders began to shake as grief overtook him.

“Christ! I’m sorry, Sherlock… I didn't mean it. Fuck.. I’m sorry.”  

With the sudden urge to see Sherlock, to apologize to him, John pulled himself up off the floor. He brushed himself off, and made his way to where he knew Max would be. It was a dark room, with a few sofas pushed together in such a way they formed a square with one open side. Max was sitting in the middle smoking, with a glass of some brown liquid in his hand. There were three women, looked more like teens to John, lying half naked on the couches next to him, two of them still had needles in their arms.

As John entered Max flicked his wrist and a few men emerged from the shadows and assisted the females out. John watched, feeling guilty, thinking that in a different life he might like to help them. Once they were alone Max motioned for John to come forward. John closed the space between them with a few unsteady strides and stood at parade rest before Max.

“So, finally made up your mind have you?” Max stood and walked around John like a cat circling its prey.

“I have. For reasons that are my own.” John focused on a stain on the wall, refusing to look at Max. The stain could be anything, but it looked suspiciously like blood. Old blood. Maybe even old enough to be Sid’s. John had never believed that Sid died of an overdose. The most he had ever seen Sid use was pot.

Max trailed a hand across John’s shoulders and around his back making John jump at the sudden contact.

“Relax, mate. I don’t bite.” Max laughed, “hard. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here. Shall we?” Max circled around to John’s front and with two long fingers undid the top button on John’s shirt. John froze but made no attempt to stop him. Max continued working on the buttons slowly, watching as each button slowly revealed more and more of John’s torso.

“Never asked, Captain… What brings a medical man like yourself here in the first place.”

John cleared his throat before answering. “Lost someone, close to me. Saw him when I was high.”

“Him?” Max raised an eyebrow. “This wouldn't be that… ‘Sherlock’ fellow you’re always talking too?”

John nodded.

“So… you’ve been with another man before.” Max slipped John’s shirt off over his shoulders and watched it fall to the floor. His eyes fell on the starburst shaped scar on John’s left Shoulder.

“Wounded in action, Sir.” Max nodded and started circling John again, this time letting his hands move across John’s body, forcing contact. “And yes, I’ve been with a man before. A few times, back during my Army days.”

“But… not.. Sherlock?”

“Not Sherlock.”

Max made his way back to John’s front and hooked a finger under the waistband of John’s jeans, wiggling it around. He quickly pulled his hand away and motioned to John’s lower half as he sat sprawled on his place on the sofa. “Take it off.”  When John didn’t move for a full minute he leaned forward and growled. “I said… take.. it.. off.”

John slowly slipped out of his slippers, undid his fly and let his trousers drop to his feet. Awkwardly he stepped out of them, nearly falling over when he lost his balance. Regaining what little dignity he had left, John kicked his jeans away and pulled his pants down, kicking those to the side as well. Unable to look Max in the eye he instead focused on the stain on the wall. When Max spoke again it was with a much gentler voice.

“Oi, mate. I don’t want this if you’re not into it… I’m not into that shit.”

Only then did John look him in the eye.

“I don’t know what the fuck I want. I never got the chance to be with Sherlock, and I still love him. I’ve given up any thought of moving on, of having another relationship... Of… being wanted.”

Max stood, took John’s hands in his and pulled John to the sofa with him, positioning John to sit straddling his lap. Max rubbed his hands up and down John’s thighs and looked up into  John’s eyes. Without saying anything he moved his hands up John’s body until they were cupping John’s face pulling him down for a long kiss.

John let Max kiss him. He didn’t hate it, nor was it unwelcome, but he refused to let himself feel anything. He kissed Max back, to show he was ok with the situation but his hands didn't move from the back of the sofa. They didn’t move to pull the muscular man’s shirt off, or to undo the belt buckle, or to grip at the back of his lover’s head.

Max gently pulled on John’s hair, tipping his head back to expose his neck. He licked up and down John’s adam's apple, and despite himself, John felt a shiver run down his spine. John let his hands move from the sofa and shakily he cupped Max’s face before dipping down to brush his tongue up against the pierced lips.

John soon lost himself in the new-found affections, as feelings of lust washed over him. It had been far too long since he felt the touch of another human, and nearly just as long since he’d had a proper wank. His cockstand was hard and pressing into the coarse fabric of Max’s jumper. Just as he was about to rip the jumper off of Max’s body a loud crash entered the room followed by shouts of “Don’t move! Police!” quickly followed by,  “On the ground. Now!”

John and Max quickly obeyed. John knelt feeling all too aware of his nakedness. He wanted to cover himself, but instead he raised his hands to the air and hung his head in shame. A blanked was soon draped over John and he was told he could lower his arms, as it was more than apparent he didn’t have any weapons on him.

A hand gripped at John’s chin and he was forced to look up into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

“Bollocks… it is you. Christ, John, what the bloody hell are you doing here?” Lestrade pulled John up to his feet, and picked up his discarded clothing from the floor. After a quick check of the pockets Lestrade pulled John out of the room and shoved the bundle of clothing at John.

“For Christ's sake, get dressed. I had hopped Mycroft didn’t know what he was talking about when he said I’d find you in a place like this.” Lestrade raked a hand through his hair and turned around as John started dressing. Once John was done Lestrade grabbed him by the arm and started dragging John out of the building. When Lestrade tried to pull John through the front door something in John snapped. He pulled away from Lestrade with more strength than he though he had left in him and had made it half way up the stairs before Lestrade was upon him again.

“Can’t… go…” John shouted while he tried to kick his way out of Lestrade’s now much stronger grip.

“For Christ's sake, John! Mycroft can’t protect you if you fight!”

“You don’t fucking understand! His coat… his bloody coat…” John broke down in sobbs and stopped fighting, relenting himself to the power of the much stronger man. “Just let me get his coat.”

Lestrade’s face soften and he took pity on the broken man in front of him.

“Right… Sherlock’s coat. Of course you’d keep that with you. Let’s go, but I’m thoroughly checking your bags when we get out of here. We’re getting you clean, Mycroft and I, if its the last fucking thing I do.”

Lestrade followed John into his room, helped John retrieve his two bags and together they walked out the front door. John went limp when Lestrade helped him into the front seat next to him, buckled him in and placed the bags in the boot of his car. It wasn’t until they were on the road that Lestrade phoned Mycroft.

“Myc? Ya… I’ve got him. In the nick of time too…. Hmm? Yeah, explain latter. He’s a lot worse than even you thought. This… isn’t going to be easy. What? Ya… I can see if I can get time off. Right, be home soon.” Lestrade smiled faintly, “Mmmhmm, you too. See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can only get better from here, right?


	16. 15th May, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the kind words as I had to take a bit of a break. I know it wasn't long, but my weekend was busy. I may be unable to post a chapter ever day this week, but I will do my best to have at least a few up by the weekend.
> 
> I did something a bit different this chapter. I had Mycroft send a letter in code. 
> 
> Please open up this key, and keep it with you. It would tickle me if you tried to decipher the code yourself. (I think I might have accidently misspelled a few words, I apologize but I wrote it at 2 AM this morning. 
> 
> (Key code http://luthorien.altervista.org/Tools/images/dancing.jpg) *NOT mentioned in the key code, the men holding flags indicates the end of a sentence. I forgot a few... so... forgive me... again, wrote it at 2AM*
> 
> I WILL put the translation in the notes at the END of the chapter, but, if you're up to it, feel free to try to crack it yourself. 
> 
> ALSO brownie points if you're familiar with this code. 
> 
> I wrote a ACD Johnlock one off, and posted it here over the weekend, I'd appreciate it if you gave it a read. It's happy and smutty. 
> 
>  
> 
> Without further ado.... 
> 
> Chapter 16. Sherlock's side...

 

Sherlock entered the room cautiously. His intuition told him that something was horribly wrong. He had sent a note ahead of him, warning his confidant of the impending danger. But when he arrived at his house, all was wrong.

The front door had been slightly ajar when Sherlock went to open it. Sherlock surveyed the house quickly determine the best course of action. He moved stealthy though the house, following the path of upturned furniture and other signs of a struggle that easily painted a clear picture.

His man Khulan had been attacked while smoking in his sitting room. A rope or wire had been placed over his neck. Khulan had fought back, managing to throw his assailant off balance into the china cabinet that now sat crooked, some of the china inside shattered.

Sherlock followed the path of destruction, saw traces of blood on the steps and felt his heart sink. He was too late. Sherlock walked up the stairs, entered the study and took a few staggering steps backwards when he took in the carnage. Khulan had been propped in his chair, arms broken and hanging awkwardly at his side. Blood stained the front of his torso from a deep gash in his neck, cause of death was more than apparent. Written on the walls in Khulan's blood were the words, "Sherlock Holmes was a fake."

It was his fault this man was dead. Anger coursed through his body and the following days of revenge had been a blur. It wasn't until Sherlock was in a safe house with the knowledge that his confidant's murder had met a similar fate that Sherlock finally allowed himself to sleep.

He woke up from a nightmare, having seen Khulan's grey grimacing face covered in blood, to a sharp knock at the door.  Unlike the in the previous safehouse, Sherlock was alone and he reached in panic for his phone. He had Mycroft's number dialed, a finger over the call button as he stole his way quietly to the door. He let out a sigh of relief when he looked through the peephole and saw the toothless grin of Arnold. He had been exhausted when he had arrived here 36 hours ago that he had forgotten about letting his brother and Arnold know where he was. He pressed his finger to the lock button on his phone as he unlocked the door and motioned for Arnold to enter.

"Hello, Mither Holmes. I hope I am not dithurbing you."

"No, of course. Please come in." Sherlock muttered still shaking from his nightmare. He made his way through the one story house into the kitchen and in a few minutes they were sitting at the table over a plate of nibbles and tea.

"So then, do you have news? Of London, of John?" Sherlock's patients were frayed and he was in no mood for small talk. Already the prospect of listening to this man's lisp was irritating him. The man nodded and chewed on a piece of bread before answering.

"Yeth." Arnold spent a short time sharing information on London before Sherlock slapped the table with his fist, making the cups and plate clatter.

"And of John? I've heard nothing of him in weeks. I thought you and Sid had everything under control?" Sherlock's voice was tight, he didn't find reason to hide his annoyance.

Arnold looked up in surprise at Sherlock's sudden outburst.

"There wath an unforthunate accident with Thid..."

Arnold set about telling Sherlock as much as he knew. About the unfortunate demise of Sid, and how Max had taken over. He didn't have much information of life inside the house once Max was in charge, but he answered Sherlock's questions to the best of his ability. Once Sherlock had gathered all the information he could from the man he sat back, steepled his fingers against his chin and thought.  It took Arnold a few tries to arouse him from his mind palace.

"Your brother thent me with thith." He had his hand out, offering a single piece of paper to Sherlock.

Sherlock took the paper and laid it on the table. He let out a smile as he imagined his brother writing out the note.

 

"If.... You'll excuse me...." Sherlock stood, paper in hand and retreated to his bedroom. Once once his door was shut behind him did he allow his body to convulse as silent sobs wracked through him.

He forced his legs to move to his bed and he collapsed onto it face first. He gripped his pillow until his knuckles went white. With his eyes closed all he could picture was John Watson, thin, grey, needle marks up his arm, naked, straddling another man while thoroughly snogging him. This was infinitely worse that whatever nightmare he had woken up from.

After a while Sherlock regained enough composure to face Arnold again. He found Arnold bent over the stove frying up sausages.

"Comfort food ith what you need." Arnold graciously didn't say anymore but set himself to the task of cooking a real English breakfast. Sausages, eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Sherlock sat in silence and ate the offered food.

“He’s thafe you know, John. Your brother haths him.”

Sherlock nodded and chewed on a sausage before answering.

“I fear that might not be what John wants. John has set himself on a self destructive path. I fear that his choices will lead to suicide. He’ll believe that is his only answer. If I could only talk to him….”  Sherlock trailed off and stared at his teacup. He and his companion were quiet for quite some time before Arnold grinned.

“Write him a letter! I’ll bring it back.”

“Clearly you’ve forgotten the part where I’m supposed to be dead.” Sherlock scoffed and glared at the other man. Arnold shook his head impatiently.

“No. A letter. Dated from before you were dead. I’ll bring it back, give it to your brother. He can thay he found it while going through your thingths.”

“That… Might actually work.” Sherlock looked thoughtful as a small smiled played at his lips. He stood, moved quickly and an instant later was back with a pen and paper. He thought for a few moments before carefully penning his words, choosing to leave the letter undated for now.

_My dear Doctor._

_I’m afraid that if you see this letter, it will mean one thing, and one thing only. That Moriarty, despite my best efforts, got to me. He has grown aggressive, and I’m afraid there is little myself or my brother can do. He acts under the radar, sending others to do his dirty work. His network is vast, probably more vast that I or Mycroft even realize._

_I write this letter now, that in the hopes of my… I’ll be frank… impending demise, these words will be of some comfort to you. I know I don’t often partake in sentiment, but the thought of leaving you is not a pleasant one._

_Please, John, don’t allow your life to be altered because of me. I would say do not be sad, but I know you too well. You have seen more grief than most, and I know that my death will shake you and cause you to question life._

_I care about you, Watson. I will do whatever is in my power to protect you. Even if that means my death. Better me than let Moriarty get to the strongest man I know. Allow yourself time to grieve, then please, John… Please move on._

_Your_

Sherlock paused, trying to think on how he should sign off his letter.

_Your Friend,_

_Sherlock._

_P.S. Please make sure my git of a brother doesn’t throw any of my stuff out. Best keep my violin in your care. Perhaps you should learn to play._

Sherlock folded the letter and handed it to Arnold.

“Once you’ve rested, I would like you to take this directly to my brother. Explain to him how he is supposed to have come upon this. Also, please tell my brother that I will be spending a few days here. I fear that my emotional state is more fragile than I’d like it to be. I need a few days to myself, to grieve and to process.”

Arnold pocketed the letter and nodded.

“Also, please tell my brother that he should encourage John to take up his blog again. I know John doesn’t believe it helps, but I know that it does. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be alone. There is a spare room with an attached bath, please feel free to make yourself at home. Stay as long as you need. Ask Mycroft to compensate you for your troubles.” Sherlock dipped his head to the man and turned on his heels, making for his bedroom again.

Once in his room he locked the door and headed to his attached bath. He drew a hot bath, stripped and slipped into the water. The water soothed his bones, but did nothing to relieve the ache in his heart. Every time he closed his eyes a vivid image of a frail and fragile John naked and straddling the hips of another man overtook his vision. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous, that he had no claim to John. Especially now that he was supposed to be dead. But Sherlock couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help the emotions brought on by a single man.

John Watson had been a mystery from the start. He was the sole person he could stand being around, wanted to be around in fact. From their very first case, the spark of life that John brought to Baker Street had been the one thing that Sherlock needed the most. Now they were worlds apart. One not knowing that the other was alive, the other unable to do anything to help the broken man.

“I will come back to you, John Watson. I will, if it is the last thing I do.”

Sherlock sunk lower into the water until just his nose was above water. The sound of the water pressure helped drown out his thoughts and offered some relief. He would allow himself a few days, perhaps even a week, to grieve and wallow. Then he would go back to the task at hand. The faster he worked, the sooner he could go home. Go home to John. That thought would be his one driving force. Return to John, beg forgiveness, and hopefully, if all went well, kiss John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -translation-
> 
>  
> 
> Sherlock
> 
> John is now safe in the care of myself and Lestrade. His recovery will be a long and difficult one. Lestrade found him high as a kite naked and straddling the lap of another man. He refuses to talk to either of us just sits in his room staring at the wall. I have offered him all the help money can buy.
> 
> Mycroft
> 
> Ps mummy says hello  
> PPS this code is childish


	17. 20th May, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again we go back to John. John has been living with Lestrade and Mycroft for the better part of a month. He's been distant and silent. Refusing any and all help.

 

There was a soft knock on the door and John could hear Mycroft blow a breath from his nose.

“John? May I come in?”

John didn’t answer, but nor did he stand to lock the door. He was only dressed from the waist down, but he couldn’t care less. Mycroft took his silence as an invitation and slowly entered the dark room, wrinkling his nose at the stale air.

“Why don’t you open the window? Perhaps even take a bath. It smells…” Mycroft shook his head and shut his mouth when he saw John glare at him. It was the first time John had actually looked at him since his arrival twenty days ago. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably before stuffing his hand his his coat pocket. John went back to staring at the wall.

“I have something you might find interesting, John.” Mycroft withdrew his hand and placed something on the small table that sat next to the chair John was currently sitting on. John kept his resolve and refused to look at the object. Mycroft stood there for a few moments before letting out an annoyed huff.  “I found it while cleaning out some of Sherlock’s things.” With that, Mycroft spun on his heels and left the room, but not before opening the curtains and cracking the window.

Only when John was alone did he let his eyes fall to the object on the table. It was a single slip of paper. He stared at the paper for a solid hour before reaching for, and unfolding it with trembling fingers. His hands were shaking so bad that he had to lay the paper back down on the table in order to read it. It was written in Sherlock’s precise hand so there was no doubt who it was from or the legitimacy of it.

John read and re read the letter until his eyes were so full of tears he couldn’t see. He knew that Sherlock had done everything to protect him, and he knew that Sherlock hadn’t killed himself. This letter was proof, this letter was all John needed to know that Moriarty had taken Sherlock from him. Sherlock had seen it coming, had planned for it, perhaps even tried to prevent it.

John blinked the tears away and his eyes fell to the last line.

_“I care about you, Watson. I will do whatever is in my power to protect you. Even if that means my death. Better me than let Moriarty get to the strongest man I know. Allow yourself time to grieve, then please, John… Please move on._

_Your Friend,_

_Sherlock.”_  
  
Strongest man he knew? John had never known Sherlock to pay another man a compliment, let alone tell someone they were even remotely better at something than himself. John had also never known Sherlock to embellish the truth. He sat there, sobbing at the fact that Sherlock had thought of him as the strongest man he knew.

He was glad then that Sherlock was dead, that he couldn’t see the man he had become. Couldn’t see the bruises on his arms where he used to stab himself with needles. Couldn’t see his thin frame that spoke of many uneaten meals. Couldn’t see his dead eyes, or his expressionless face.

John had gone from withdrawals to a manic depressed state. Over his time here with Mycroft and Lestrade he had refused any and all help. Refused to leave the room except for when Lestrade would gently forced him to go bathe. His room had an attached toilet, but no shower. Most meals that were taken up to him were left untouched. He spent his days either laying in bed wrapped in Sherlock’s coat, or sitting in this very chair staring at the wall.

This letter from Sherlock came just as John was thinking of a way to end his miserable life. He could easily jump from his window. He was on the second floor, the window was just big enough for him to push himself through, and his body was frail enough that he knew he stood no chance of survival if he went out head first. He read over the letter once more, eyes again falling to _“the strongest man I know.”_ That described anyone except himself. John stood and walked to the bathroom, taking the letter with him. He leaned heavily on the counter and looked at himself in the small mirror. His eyes fell to his thin frame and landed on the tattoo on his right shoulder. He had gotten it done by Sid. It was was the Royal Army Medical symbol. Quite similar to the mug he had back at Baker Street. His eyes trailed down the rest of his body.

“Should be ashamed of yourself, Watson. Not only have you let yourself down, but you let Sherlock down. Let his memory down.” John’s voice was hoarse from disuse and it hurt to speak. He licked his dry lips only to find his tongue was as dry as sandpaper.

John’s head hurt from dehydration and his stomach growled in hunger. He thought about walking to the kitchen in search of food. But after a few unsteady steps through his bedroom he gave up. Sitting on the edge of his bed he grabbed his phone and sent Lestrade a text.

**John: If it isn’t a bother, I’d like something to eat.**

John closed his phone and curled up on his bed stroking Sherlock’s coat with his left hand and still holding the letter in his right hand. There was a shout and a lot of commotion downstairs before John’s phone chirped and lit up.

**Lestrade: Sure! What would you like?**

John was sure the commotion downstairs had been caused by his text and he felt guilty.

**John: Not picky. Bring water. Lots of water.**

John closed his eyes and simultaneously stroked the letter and Sherlock’s coat. A short while later there was a soft knock at the door. John quickly placed the letter under his pillow, unwilling to share Sherlock’s precious words with anyone. He was sure Mycroft had read it, but he was just as sure that Mycroft wouldn’t ever mention it.

“C’min” John’s voice cracked, but he didn’t try to correct himself.

Lestrade opened the door and stepped in carrying a tray that was overflowing with food. John sat up and offered him a half hearted smile, which was more like the corners of his mouth twitching momentarily. Lestrade moved to the table, placed the tray down and sat down in the chair. He looked at John for a long while before leaning back in the chair and speaking.

“You look…”

“Like hell?” John whispered.

“I wasn’t going to say it…” Lestrade poured him a glass of water and handed it over. John took a slow sip knowing if he drank too much he would be sick.

“It’s true, you can say it. I fucked up.” John took another small sip and eyed the tray of food. Lestrade saw him eyeing the tray, stood up and moved the tray to the bed before sitting back down.

“No one can blame you, John. Hell, no one _does_ blame you. What you went through…” Lestrade ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I couldn’t have done it… Lost the man I love.”

John had been picking at the food while Lestrade talked and had to swallow a mouthful of grapes before talking.

“It hurt.” John choked on the emotion in his voice. “I… didn’t realize I loved him.”

“It’s alright mate, you don’t need to explain yourself. I’ll listen if you want to talk, but no one is making you.” John nodded and picked up half of a grilled cheese sandwich.

“I want to blog again. Could… I have a laptop.” John had sold his laptop when he had run out of money. “Also, I want to go back to Baker Street.”

“Whatever you need, mate. But first, could I suggest a shower?” Lestrade looked John over from head to toe.

“A nice hot bath, actually. That sounds… fantastic.” John actually smiled. He took another sip of water and looked around the room. “Thank you, Greg.”

Lestrade just smiled. He didn’t need John to explain anything. “Let me get you some clean clothes, and we’ll see about that bath. Maybe even... some new sheets? Perhaps we could get rid of these?” He gave John a questioning look.

John looked down at his bed and the clothes he was wearing. Mycroft had thought of everything, had known what was on his mind. He was wearing paper scrubs and his blankets had been of the same material, to prevent John from attempting to hang himself with a sheet or his clothes. They had tried keeping someone in the room with John, to keep an eye on him, but that had ended with a chair being thrown across the room.

“With pleasure. Could…” John looked down at his toes, “I have Sherlock’s scarf back?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Lestrade smiled and started to leave the room. “Go get yourself in the bath, I’ll place some clothes just inside the door for you.”

“Greg?”

Lestrade turned around in the doorframe and looked at John.

“I just.. I’m not… better. But…” John shuffled on his feet not knowing what to say. “I want to be. I want… To be the man he knew me as.”

Lestrade took two big strides back into the room and engulfed John in a bearhug, being gentle not to squeeze too hard. It was the first human contact John had felt since arriving at this house, and John was surprised to find himself returning the hug. The men stood there for a few minutes until John heard Lestrade sniffle. Both men pulled apart and found something interesting in the hall to focus on. Lestrade pulled at his shirt, straightening it and nodded.

“Right, I’ll see to your clothes then.”

“And I’ll see to a bath.”

John moved from the bed, picked up Sherlock’s coat and the letter. He placed the letter in one of the pockets on the belstaff and hung it up on one of the posts on his bed. He was weak from lack of eating so he had to support himself on the wall as he walked to the bathroom, but he held his head high. No more would he entertain the idea of killing himself, and with that knowledge he knew he needed to find something to do with himself.

Once in the bathroom John quickly stripped himself of his clothes and tossed them to the side. He plugged the drain, turned the taps on and added a bit of bubblebath to the mix. He leaned over the tub, swishing his hands in the water, smiling as the bubbles grew higher and higher until they were almost overflowing out of the tub. He sighed as finally stepped into the water, leaned against the edge of the clawfoot tub and closed his eyes.

John wiggled his toes in the water, feeling more alive than he had in ages. He held his breath and submerged his face smiling underwater at how he didn’t have the sudden urge to suck in a lungful of water. He hadn’t been allowed to bathe alone for that very reason.

John stayed in the bath until the water ran cold. As he let the water drain and reached for a towel. After drying himself off he looked in the mirror again. He was in desperate need of a shave, but he knew his hands were still too shaky for that to happen. He looked around and smiled when he saw a pile of real clothes on the floor. Clearly Mycroft had picked them out. They were name brand and something John was sure he would never be able to afford.

He slipped on the t-shirt and after struggling to fasten the button on his jeans he was glad he hadn't been given a button up. He looked in the mirror once more and gave himself a small smile. His face was pale from lack of sunlight, he was in need of a shave, he was thin, his hair was grey. But he was John Watson. A broken version of John Watson, but himself. No longer was he the drug relient man he had been only a month ago. He sighed, pulled on his shirt and stepped out of the bathroom in search of socks and shoes.

He stopped by his room to grab socks. While he was there he slipped Sherlock’s letter into his pocket, along with a few more mouthfulls of food. He was hungry enough to eat the whole plate, but he knew better. If he didn’t pace himself he would very quickly regret it.

After looking for shoes, and being unsuccessful, John made his way downstairs. Mycroft was in the sitting room that was just off to the side of the stairs. He looked up from a tablet and gave John a curt nod. John nodded back and chose to ask Lestrade for shoes.

He found Lestrade in the office that was in the back of the house. Lestrade looked up from his laptop and smiled when he took in John.

“You look like a new man!”

“Need a shave… and some shoes.”

“Shoes! Bollocks.” Lestrade walked to the door and gave a shout, “Myc! Where did you put John’s shoes?”

Mycroft stepped into the hall and rolled his eyes. “Greg, poppet, what have I said about shouting?” Greg just rolled his eyes. “His shoes are in the closet with all of our other shoes. Where else would I put them? Now if you’re quite done yelling… I have work to do.”

“What are you saving today? England, or the world?” Lestrade gave Mycroft a grin.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Not every day.”  Mycroft actually smiled at this. A genuine smile. One that reminded John of Sherlock when he had just solved a case, or some other complex problem.  Lestrade turned back to John.

“Right, shoes are this way, Myc has this thing about keeping shoes in one place… Best remember to take them off when you enter the house. As for your face… I can have a razor brought up to your room.”

“Actually, if you don’t mind… My hands…” John held his shaking hands out to Greg, who in turn nodded. “We’ll stop somewhere. I happen to know an excellent barber.”

“John?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from where he was sitting on the step.  
  
“What do you need at Baker Street?” Lestrade gave him a questioning look as he opened a closet door and pulled out John’s shoes.

“Sherlock’s violin.” He bent down, shoved his feet in his shoes and stood up.

Lestrade just nodded before picking his keys up off a hook and leading the way out into the bright early summer day.

 

 


	18. 1st June, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life living with Mycroft and Lestrade isn't easy... but nor is it terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is a fantastic friend. I want him on my side when the zombie apocalypse goes down.

John had been with Lestrade and Mycroft for a month now. In that month he had gotten clean. Not by choice, but by force. He dealt with his cravings as well as he could. And pushed through his depression as best as he was able. He had taken to jogging with Mycroft in the morning and plucked at the violin in the afternoon as a form of distraction.

Every morning at 6 John would wake up and meet Mycroft downstairs where he had placed a second treadmill. They would run in silence for nearly an hour before a servant would come in carrying a champagne bucket with two glass water bottles sticking out of the ice. Mycroft would then retired to his rooms to get ready for work.

John would escape outdoors, bringing his expensive water with him. Mycroft had a spacious estate that spoke of a past time. The medieval charm reminded John of something that Tolkien would write about.  

It was a cool brisk morning and the earth smelled of last nights rain. John walked along a dirt path heading to the back of the estate. He moved slowly as he wasn't in a hurry. He picked his way through the well known paths and stopped in a small garden. There was a stone bench overlooking a small fountain. The bench was set against a tall hedge that surrounded the garden.

He sat down on the bench and placed his trembling hands on his lap. Some mornings John would sit out here and read, others he would write, but this morning he needed to think. He felt like he was being forced to stay here, that he wasn’t trusted to be on his own. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that this would be true. The second he was left to his own devices he knew he would crawl back into the hole Lestrade had retrieved him from.  He hated feeling trapped, he hated feeling helpless, and worst of all he hated knowing that everyone around him was right.

He knew that this was the best place for him, even though he hated the fact that Lestrade and Mycroft had forced him to get clean. It was much easier dealing with his feelings when he was too far gone to feel them. Now he was being forced to deal with them head on. His anger was growing with each day that passed and without an outlet he dreaded the moment he finally snapped. He let out a long shaky sigh and pressed the heel of one hand into his eyes.

John was still weak from the events of the last few months, and from not eating. He still only ate when it was required. Lestrade would bring him a grilled cheese, or fish and chips and sit with him, only leaving once John had eaten most of it. He could feel himself growing dizzy, both from the jogging and lack of a proper meal and knew if he didn’t find his way back it would be a while before someone found him.

He stood and slowly made his way back to the house. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Mycroft’s car was no longer in the drive. He slipped inside the house and had almost made it to the bathroom for a shower before he heard Lestrade’s voice.

“Oi, John!”

John inhaled sharply before turning and facing Lestrade.

“‘Bout to have breakfast, join me.”

“Just going to shower.” John knew it wasn’t a question. Mycroft had probably told Lestrade how he had pushed himself to his limit this morning during their jog. Lestrade nodded and called behind him as he headed down stairs.

“It’ll be ready in 15. I’ll save you some.”

John shut the door behind him with a bit more force than he had intended, he ripped his clothes off and stood in the shower for a full minute before turning the taps on. He turned the water on so hot that it hurt his skin. He didn’t want to be forced to sit at the table and eat. He wanted to be alone, wanted to pretend he didn’t exist today.

He stepped out of the shower exactly 20 minutes later and took his time drying. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked to his bedroom. His clothes had been all brought into his room by now, so he took his time picking out a shortsleeve blue checkered button up along with a pair of loose jeans. He hated summer clothes, hated how they showed off his skinny frame, but he knew today would be far too hot for jumpers.

After he had dressed, brushed his teeth and shaved he walked downstairs nearly 35 minutes after talking with Lestrade. The silver haired man didn’t seem bothered. He sat at the table sipping on coffee absorbed in the morning paper. It wasn’t until John sat down did Lestrade put the paper down. He watched as John eyed his plate and instead picked up his teacup. Lestrade sighed and sipped on his coffee.

“I don’t need to be babysat.”

“John, I think we both know just how very wrong that statement is.” Lestrade didn’t sound annoyed, rather he sounded sad, almost pleading.

“I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, we all saw how well that went. Planning on snogging a few more men, are you?”

John looked at Lestrade for a full minute before hanging his head in shame. They had never talked about the moment that Lestrade had pulled him out of the drug den.

“I wasn’t going too…” John trailed off, placed his head in his hands, and his elbows on the table.”

“Wasn’t… what, John? Sitting naked on another man’s lap.” Lestrade lowered his voice into a slightly gentler tone, “Seemingly enjoying it?”

John lowered his hands to his lap, cleared his throat and wet his lips with his tongue before speaking.

“I… went to Max to ask for something stronger. I needed something stronger. I had grown… tolerant… of the weaker drugs. I saw him when I was high, every time at first.” John didn’t care if he was making sense, but now that he had started talking he wasn’t sure he could stop.

“After a while, I saw him less and less. His coat, scarf and dressing gown had all stopped smelling of him. I had nothing left. Only the stronger stuff still offered me the chance to see him. Max knew that, was… exploiting that. He had a thing for me. I went to him, knowing full well what he wanted, but nothing mattered. I had cursed Sherlock out in a fit of anger, and I needed to see him, I needed to apologize. You took that from me. You stopped me before I could apologize.” John was nearly crying, his voice cracking as he finished speaking. He picked up his fork and moved a sausage around the plate.

Lestrade leaned on the table, the paper crinkling in protest as he placed his arms across it.

“John, all I know is this. You were about to make a mistake. A big one. One that couldn’t take back.” He leaned back in his chair and dragged a fingernail through the stubble on his chin. “We both know… He wouldn’t want this, Sherlock.”

“But he’s not here! So what the blazes does it matter what he would bloody want?” John pinched the bridge of his nose as he spat the words out, anger bubbling up.

“You two depended on each other. I think more than either of you realized.” Lestrade sighed and looked John square in the eye. “This isn’t going to be easy, but you need to find something worth living for. And cling to that. If not for yourself, then do it for Sherlock.

John said nothing, but nodded while he continued to push food around on his plate.

“John…” Lestrade paused and looked thoughtful, “I could use a temporary M.E. on my team. Our current Medical Examiner is out on Maternity leave, and her replacement… well, he found out he had a weak stomach. What do you think about working a few cases with me?”

John absentmindedly put a piece of sausage in his mouth chewing thoughtfully. He had to admit, the thought was appealing. It would get him out of the house, back to work, and under the proper supervision that Mycroft insisted he have. After thinking about it for a few minutes, while eating, John looked up and nodded.

“I’ll give it a try. Might be nice to lengthen my leash.”

“John,” Lestrade sighed, “you’re not on a leash. Just… we’re watching out for you for -”

“My protection, yeah. I know. I’ve heard it all. I can’t go out with Mike because I might get drunk, I can’t go for a walk through London because I might stub my toe and fall into a drug den, I can’t-”  
  
“John.” Lestrade’s voice thin and his good humor was faltering. “If you do this, I need you at your best. Three meals a day, and the proper amount of sleep. Can you do that?”

John nodded and looked down at his now mostly empty plate in surprise.

“Well, seems that I’m off to a good start.” John suddenly paled and looked up. “Greg… I won’t work with Anderson.”

Lestrade let a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he stood to place his plate in the sink

“Don’t worry, that isn’t going to be a problem.”

After breakfast John retired to his room. He paced back and forth by the open window, Sherlock’s letter in his hand. He had the letter memorized, but seeing Sherlock’s handwriting helped him. When he grew tired of pacing he pulled out the tablet Mycroft had given him and pulled up his blog.

 

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

1st June, 2012

I know this wont be easy, but I need to move forward. Not on, I don’t know that I can do that right now. I still hold Sherlock with me, with everything I do, I can't move on. But I do need to move forward, I need to be the man he thought I was. He thought I was strong, and I am anything but that.

So what am I? What makes John Watson tick?

I don’t know what I am. No… I’m a doctor.

As for what makes me tick? It’s about time that I relearn that.

Time to be strong. Time to be the John Watson Sherlock knew me as.

I do know one thing, I’m going to get a new tattoo. Don’t ask, I wont tell you what it is. That’s between myself and Sherlock.

* * *

**Comments:**

**Mike: Where the bloody hell have you been! I’ve tried ringing you hundreds of times.**

**John: I… Sort of fell into the wrong crowd. Long story, not worth mentioning. You’ll have to come over, I’m back staying with Greg and Mycroft for a time.**

**Harry: Wrong crowd? John, you’re not doing drugs are you? That sounds like something mum would say… “wrong crowd.”**

**Mrs. Hudson: John, luv. You should pop by Baker Street for a cuppa. Or we could meet somewhere.**

**John: Mrs. Hudson, why do I feel like I’ll be walking into a scolding rather than a warm welcome?**

**Mrs. Hudson: I’m not your mother, dear.**

**Harry: *Comment deleted***   
  
**John: Harry, one more word about our mother and I’ll make it so you can’t comment anymore.**

**Harry: *Comment deleted***

**John: Go to bed, sis, you’re drunk.**

_[Unsent] Sherlock: John… I cannot tell you how much it warms my heart to see that you’re blogging again. It gives me something to look forward too in the darkest days._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, I know. I just needed to show the bit of transition in John's life. How he's still struggling, things aren't perfect, but he's also trying.


	19. 7th June, 2012 9:13 P. M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to work for Lestrade.

### 7th June, 2012 9:13 P. M.

 

Went on my first case with Lestrade today. He had to pull some strings and cash in a few favors, but I'll be his to to M. E. (Medical examiner) for the next 6 weeks or so. It will be nice to start earning an income again, and not have to rely on Mycroft when I need something.

Lestrade woke me up around 3:30 this morning, having just woke up to the call himself. Within 10 minutes we were in his car speeding across London. We arrived to the crime scene, and to my relief neither Sally or Anderson were there. As we approached the house, by all means it looked like a quiet dwelling, ivy shrouded the building and there was a well tended garden being trampled by Scotland Yard's finest, we were handed protective coverings for our shoes. Before we entered, a young officer held out a hand to stop us.

"Best prepare yourself... It isn't pretty."

"Is murder ever pretty, Gregson?"

"No sir, but this... A few men left the room vomiting."

Lestrade nodded and held the door open for me. We entered the house and it didn't take us long before we saw where we were needed. A trail of bloodied footprints lead the way to the full bath in the back of the house. There we found a woman fully clothed bent over the side of the tub, arms dangling at odd angles into the tub.

I soon saw the reason Gregson's warning. A closer examination of the body revealed that a large gash had been made to her abdomen, along with defensive wounds on her arms and hands.

"Christ... Greg, she was pregnant. Cut the baby clean out of her. Look here..." I pointed with a gloved hand, "you can see that she tried protecting her child. She.. Christ, she was awake for this." I proceeded with my examination and helped move the body after Lestrade was satisfied.

In the end, it was the woman's ex fiancé who had done this horrendous act. They had been engaged. Once his drinking problem became apparent, she had left him, telling him he would have no part in the child's life until he cleaned up his act. We found him and the child, who was surprisingly alive and mostly well. The child is now in the care of her parents.

It was an open and shut domestic. I had to smile at what Sherlock would have said, seeing me work on something so mundane in his eyes.

* * *

 

**Comments:**

_[unsent] Sherlock: It's just nice to see you back to work. You could be tending babies in Hospital, and I would be thrilled. Though I fear seeing this, something so grotesque, is not going to end well._

**Harry: John! Why would you post this?**

**Mike: Wow, hope the baby is alright. Glad it survived.**

**John: Baby was a bit small, but her due date was a few weeks from now, so he was fully developed. He had a cut to his chest, probably from... Well... Yeah he'll be fine. They asked me if they could name him after me.**

 

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

John shut his laptop and ignored the call from his sister. No doubt she wanted to tell John the error his his ways, or to ask John about his disappearance. He let out a sigh, stripped himself of his clothes before putting on a comfortable nightshirt, pants and Sherlock's Dressing gown. Slipping into bed he turned the bedside lamp off and adjusted his pillow.

He woke two hours later shaking and covered in a cold sweat. His blankets wrapped themselves around him making him feel confined. Panic crept through him as he fought to throw the blankets off, but the more he struggled the further entangled he became.  After nearly a minute of fighting John finally freed himself. He swung legs legs over the edge of the bed and shakily pushes he's himself up.

As he made his way to the door his foot came into contact with something solid, causing him to see stars and curse in pain. He kicked the chair out of the way and stumbled into the bathroom down the hall. He quickly peeled off his sweat soaked clothes and stepped into the shower.

After adjusting the water temperature John sat on the shower floor, knees up, head resting on his knees with his hands clasped behind his head. He let the water wash away his tears and didn't even realize he'd been sobbing until there was a knock on the door. The door opened a crack, the a fraction more as Mycroft intruded on his privacy.

"I was just headed to bed, couldn't help overhearing."

"I'm fine, Mycroft. If you'd kindly leave." John didn't look up, didn't want to be having this conversation right now. Especially not with Mycroft.

Mycroft out an annoyed huff, but shut the door as he retreated back into the hall. John stayed in the shower for some time before pulling himself to his feet and forcing himself to stand long enough to dry off. He wrapped the towel around his waist, gathered his sweaty clothes and chided himself when he realized Sherlock's robe was amongst the clothing. He made his way back to his to his room and was just about to drop the towel to the floor when a movement caught his eye.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" John held the towel tightly as he sat on the edge of the bed. Mycroft was sitting in the chair, flipping through John's phone. "And what the hell are you doing with my phone."

"You should respond to your friends, John. I don't go for sentiment, but it does others well."

"Mmm. Right. Get out." John pointed towards the door. Mycroft looked at John and blinked a few times before settling back in the chair.

"We should talk." Mycroft's tone was superior, arrogant and all around... Very Mycroft.

"What about? What could Mycroft Holmes possible want to talk to me about? While I'm mostly naked, trying to go back to sleep."

"But you aren't."

"Aren't what? Naked? I'm wearing a bloody towel!"

"No, John. Clearly you have no intentions of going back to sleep. You rarely sleep after having been woken from a nightmare. I need to know, John, are you a risk to yourself?"

"He sure got to the point." John thought to himself, anger reach full boil.

"Risk? To myself? Am I going to kill myself, you mean? No. Unless skipping a good night's sleep is a suicide attempt, I'm not trying to my myself."

"Do try to calm down, John. I mean no ill will. You're depressed, and clearly working today made it worse."

"Made it worse? Is that what you think? No... Mycroft, working helped. It gave me a sense of accomplishment. It's when I'm here, alone, my mind wanders.  I did not have a nightmare about work. You want to know what I see when I close my eyes? I see your brother, I see Sherlock. Broken body bent on the sidewalk, with blood seeping from his brain. That is what I dream of, that is why I don't sleep, and that is why I don't fucking want to be here."

"Here?"

"Alive. But no, before you put me under house arrest again, I'm not going to kill myself. He's still alive..." John muttered the last bit so it was barely audible

"Pray, what did you just say?" Mycroft's eyebrows peaked in interest.

"He's still alive... At least, I want to believe that. I need too. I..."

"John, my brother is gone. He is out of our reach now. I'm sorry..."

"Yeah..." John stood and reached for clean clothes and was just about to walk into the adjoining bathroom to change when Mycroft placed a small bottle on the table.

"I think they'll help. Humor me, try them. I owe it to my brother to help, I know you don't think fondly of me, John, but I honestly do want to help." With that Mycroft got up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

John walked to the table and popped the lid of the bottle off and poured a few small tablets into the palm of his shaking hand. He wanted to be angry, wanted to throw the bottle against the wall or toss them down the toilet. But a small voice in his head suggested that they might actually help. He was surprised that Mycroft would give him a bottle of antidepressants after his recent drug abuse, but maybe this was Mycroft's way of opening up to him. He popped a tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry. He discarded the towel and changed into clean clothes. Maybe.. Maybe this is what he needed. He crawled back into bed and to his surprise fell into a deep sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is short. A lot shorter than I'd like it. I've just been on the go and this is all I could manage to squeak out.
> 
> Tomorrow and the next day (Thursday 5/21 and Friday 5/22) I'm working extra hours at my second job, I hope this doesn't prevent me from getting at least one update out, but I make no promises. After memorial day I'll have a bit more free time.
> 
> ALSO
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER
> 
> We'll see Mycroft's side of things!! Who's excited about that!!!!


	20. 7th June, 2012 (Mycroft)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft shares a secret with Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who has been so VERY encouraging and taking this journey with me. I honestly wouldn't be keeping up with this if it wasn't for all of you. Thank you to Bethany who is helping me Beta this. I couldn't do this without her. She's been giving me some amazing ideas and helping me so much. I honestly find myself itching to write and giggling to myself at work because of you guys. 
> 
> When I sneak a look at my phone at work and see a new comment it makes my day so much better.

Leaving John's room with a sigh,  Mycroft entered the bedroom he shared with Greg and smiled apologetically as he pulled his phone off the charger.

“Work? At this hour?” Lestrade said from bed, looking sullen as he placed his tablet on his lap.

“Of a sort. I’m sorry, Gregory. I know I said I was all yours tonight, but this cannot wait, nor be helped.” Mycroft leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Greg’s forehead before retreating from the room.

Once alone in his office Mycroft took a deep breath before anxiously punching a number in his phone. It rang three long rings before there was an answer.

“Please tell me that I just imagined deleting your phone number off of John’s ‘missed calls’ log.”

There was an audible sigh of annoyance on the other line. “ Tell me, Brother, that you did not call me just to reprimand me.”

“John _cannot_ know. We have talked about this.”

“No, _you_ have talked about this. It is _my_ life, Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice was full of anger.

“Yes, a life that I am trying desperately to cover up.”

“Spare me the speech. You might think you have matters under control, but I know John better than he knows himself. John needs to know, he deserves to know.”

Mycroft rested his face in his free hand and sighed into the phone. “And if we  do tell him, Sherlock? What then? Depression can be treated, anger cannot. John would stop at nothing to find you. And through he would do so with the best intentions, his blundering efforts to find you would disastrous. Ending not only his death, but yours. Even if he promised he wouldn’t search for you, Moriarty’s men would surely notice a sudden changed in him. We both know he his under careful watch, which makes this phone call highly dangerous.”  Mycroft paused a moment before continuing. “John’s grief is the best cover up we have, Sherlock. Even you cannot deny that.”

Sherlock was silent for a few minutes before letting out a long drawn breath. “I know. I just.. miss him. My, I hate seeing him suffer.”

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”

“What if it is? I’m starting to believe that love is a most powerful motivator.”

“Then channel that, Lockie. You cannot allow yourself to wallow. Do your job, and then come back to him.”

“Right, back to work.” Sherlock ended the call and left Mycroft in the silence of his office.

Mycroft thought for a few moments. He picked up a bottle of aged scotch, his prized single malt 50 year old bottle of Macallan's, two glasses and made his way quietly back to his bedroom. As he placed the bottle and glasses down beside the bed Greg looked up and eyed him suspiciously.

“Either you’re leaving for an undisclosed amount of time on business, or you’re about to tell me something that I’m not going to like. Either way, out with it.” Greg repositioned himself as the bed dipped when Mycroft sat down beside him.  Greg handed the glasses over as he unscrewed the cap to the bottle.

“How much?”

“Three fingers.”

“That bad?”

Mycroft didn’t answer. He just took a long sip before handing the glass over to be refilled.

“Gregory, What I am about to tell you cannot, for any reason, leave this room. Do you understand?”

“You have my word, now what the hell is going on?”

“Sherlock is actually quite alive. This whole thing was a very elaborate plan.”

“Excuse me?” Greg looked at Mycroft and took a swig of scotch.

“Moriarty had us cornered. He had snipers trained on you, John and Mrs. Hudson. If Sherlock didn’t meet his demands all three of you would have been shot. We had an idea, that Sherlock’s death would be the demand. But there was some margin for error, and we did not take into account Moriarty's disregard for his own life. Sherlock was forced to fake his own death to save himself and you.” Mycroft paused and took another sip from his glass, unable to look Greg in the eyes.

“Sherlock is currently undercover trying to get rid of Moriarty’s network. Thus it is crucial that we do not let John know. I just intercepted a phone call from Sherlock on John’s phone while he was in the shower. Gregory, if John finds out…”

“They’ll know?” Greg’s voice was soft, almost unwilling to believe what he was hearing, but with his knowledge of the Holmes brothers, he knew it was more than possible.

“Precisely. It is key that John stays depressed. His grieving is Sherlock’s best cover up. I do not wish for John to suffer, but I don’t know of another way.” Mycroft leaned his head against the tall wooden headboard and let out a long sigh. “I hated keeping this from you.”

“I understand… I think. Why are you telling me?”

“Because I don’t know how to help John. Like I said, I don’t wish John to suffer. He has grieved much more than Sherlock or I thought he would.”

“Well, neither of you took into account the fact that John was madly in love with Sherlock.”

“We never knew.”

“How could the two of you not know, when everyone else who had ever come into contact with them knew? I bloody knew! Making John watch, that was unnecessary.”

“John hardly believes that Sherlock is dead now, how were we supposed to make him believe if he did not seemingly watch him fall?”

Greg nursed his drink before replying.

“Might want to ease up on John a bit. Stop pushing medication and therapy at him. When he is good and ready for it, he’ll get help, until then you’re just forcing him. John Watson does not like to be forced by anyone but your brother.”

“Noted, thank you Gregory.” Mycroft offered Greg a weak smile. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry? I’m royally pissed. In fact, I do believe that I’ll have a headache for the next day or so.” Greg put his glass on the nightstand, placed his tablet on the floor and turned his lamp off. “Goodnight, Mycroft.” With that he rolled over onto his side and pretended to sleep.

Mycroft stayed up for a short time before finishing his drink and turning his light off.

“Greg? I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Mmm?”

“Are you too angry to cuddle?”

There was a sigh and then a soft chuckle. “I’ll never be too angry to cuddle, get over here you big tiger.”

Greg smiled as Mycroft’s warm body pressed into his back, but slapped away a wandering hand. “Nope, not tonight. I need to process what you just told me. You should have told me from the start.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Now go to sleep.”

“Yes, Gregory. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know I know, I always say I might not have a chapter up tomorrow...)
> 
> I work 13 hours tomorrow, then saturday my mum and I are taking my younger siblings to see the ocean. (Live in New England) They've only been to the ocean once before and don't really remember it. So I'll be gone all day Saturday. I might be able to write in my notebook a little, but wont be able to type it up until late Saturday night. 
> 
> I have two hours to myself between jobs tomorrow so I'm going to sit my arse down and write as much as I can. Who would you all like to hear from next?


	21. 4th July, 2012

4th July, 2012

It's been nearly a month since my last update. Lestrade has been keeping me rather busy with cases. There is a lot more that goes into being a M.E. for Scotland Yard than I realized. A lot more paperwork as well.

But it’s been good. I think it is what I needed. It has helped keep my depression somewhat in check. Sometimes the cases are difficult, and sometimes standing there over a body makes me think of Sherlock. (Honestly, I’m not trying to be insensitive here.) But it is busy work, and that is what I’ve needed. Sitting in my room staring at the walls did nothing to help me.

But that’s enough about me. I’m a British man, I shouldn’t be talking about my feelings. I should instead just grab a cup of tea. This was just my very roundabout way of saying that I’ll have some cases typed up soon. Some haven’t gone to trial yet, so I’m not allowed to talk about them. But I do have a few I can share.  Just need to type them up.

 

* * *

  
_ Comments: _

_ Mrs. Turner: John, dear, give me a ring. It’s about Mrs. Hudson. _

_ TheImprobableOne: Oh, is there light at the end of the tunnel?  Hope things start looking up for you. _

_ Mike Stamford: John, when are we going to get together for drinks? _

_ Mrs. Turner: John? Please can you call me? _

_ Harry Watson: *Comment Deleted* _

_John Watson: Harry, sod off. I’m not in the mood._

_ [Unsent] Sherlock Holmes: Dead bodies make you think of me? I find that incredibly sweet. _

  
  
  


♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆   
  


 

After a quick phone call to Mrs. Turner John sighed and stood up to find his coat. Mrs. Turner had told him that Mrs. Hudson was under the weather, hadn’t left the flat in days. She was incredibly worried about her, but she had just had surgery to on her hip and couldn’t pop in to check on Mrs. Hudson.  
  
He walked down the stairs and started searching for either Mycroft or Lestrade. Mycroft was sitting in the kitchen at the small table reading the newspaper. John cleared his throat to make his presence known and planted his feet firmly apart.

“Mycroft, I need a car.”

Mycroft looked up and looked at John over a slightly wrinkled nose.

“Where are you going?”

“That is of my own business, and as you’ll be made aware of my location before we even get there, spare me the questions. I’m not a teenager. Nor am I your responsibility.”

“John,” Mycroft sighed and folded the newspaper onto his lap. “I’m simply looking out for you.”

“Like you were looking out for Sherlock?” John spat back, anger making his temple twitch.

Mycroft didn’t flinch at John’s remark, he simply punched something into his phone and looked back up. “You are to stay with the driver at all times. You may go about your business, but Devon must stay with you at all times.”

“Thanks, dad.”  John whirled around and shoved his shoes on his feet trying to ignore the anger boiling up inside him. “Who the hell does he think he is? Why should I let him dictate where I go? Well, at least he’s letting me leave on my own, not finding a good reason for himself or Lestrade to join me.”

By the time John was out on the front steps a sleek black car was pulling into the long drive. It looped around and stopped directly in front of John. John didn’t wait for the man to get out and open the door, he simply stormed up to the car and plopped himself down in the backseat.

“Tell your boss that you’re taking me to Baker Street.” John glared at the two eyes that looked back at him from the rearview mirror.

“Yes sir.”

John buckled and looked out the window. When they were almost to Baker Street he spoke without looking forward.

“I’m need to stop at the store first. Mrs. Hudson isn’t feeling well and I need to get a few things.”

Devon pulled up at a corner store and started to get out of the car.

“Just… stay here, will you? I wont be a but a moment. Do you really think I’m going to want to walk a few blocks with my hands full of groceries. John stepped out on the sidewalk, pulling his cane out of the car behind him.

He walked through the store gathering things required to make soup, a box of tissues, and some medicine. He walked past a box of jammy dodgers but with a smile retreated a few steps and picked up two boxes. He quickly checked out and made his way back to the car, this time allowing Devon to help him with the door.

When they arrived at Baker Street John looked at the reflection of the driver in the mirror and sighed.

“Do you need to come in? I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will warm to the idea.”

“No, sir. Here will be fine.”

“As you wish.” John carried the bags up to the door and fumbled with his key in the door. He had to prop his cane between his knees in order to unlock and opened the door. He made his way to Mrs. Hudson's door and knocked. A faint voice inside answered the knock and he couldn't make out what it said.

"Mrs. H? It's John. I'm coming in." He waited a few seconds and listened for any sounds of protest, when he heard none, he opened the door and slowly walked into the room. He walked first to the kitchen to put the groceries down then made his way through the flat until he found Mrs. Hudson in her bedroom. She was pale and was surrounded by boxes of tissues and a bin full of used dirty tissues sat at the edge of her bed.

"Well. Don't you look like rubbish. Mrs. Turner rang me, told me you were sick. I've brought medicine." John reached into the bag containing the medicine and pulled out a bottle. He poured out a dose of medicine and handed it to her. He then proceeded to fuss about her until she waved him off good naturedly. She eyed him and the eyed the cane he held in his hand but said nothing.

"Lovely to see you dear. Thank you."

John nodded and sat at the edge of her bed. "I'm going to go make soup. Can I get you anything?"

"No dear. But soup sounds lovely." John patted her hand and stood to leave but stopped when she called out.

"John, Luv. If it isn't a bother, could you go up to your flat and shut the windows in the sitting room? I was airing it out a bit today before it all go to be too much for me. Needed a bit of a lie down."

"Sure thing, Mrs. H."

John went back into the kitchen and set about finding pots and pants and all the utensils he would need for the soup. After he had everything prepared and on the stove he made his way to the stairs

John stood at the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath. Bracing himself he placed a hand on the banister and began to slowly climb the stairs.  Sounds of laughter and of music from times long past echoed faintly down the hall. He tightened his grip on his cane and squared his shoulders.

As he stepped into the flat he was struck by just how normal everything was. From their chairs, down to the dust that had settled on everything. Mrs. Hudson had respected Sherlock’s dislike of dusting even now. He walked over to the window next to the sofa and closed it. He was turning around when something caught his eye. It was Sherlock’s iPhone. He would know that phone anywhere. The screen was shattered from when he had thrown it on the roof right before he… he jumped. John traced the phone’s edge with a finger and let out a shaky sigh. It had been on this phone that Sherlock had spoken with him last. He wondered briefly how the phone had managed to come here, to be on the table where Sherlock’s laptop used to be. It must have been Mycroft, or one  of his minions.  John pocketed the phone and walked out of the flat without a second look, closing the door.

He spent the next few hours tidying up Mrs. Hudson’s flat, checking on the soup, and sitting with her. He sat at the edge of her bed for nearly a half hour just holding her hand while she slept. Mrs. Hudson by no means was frail, but it was apparent that this bug had knocked her down hard. After the soup was ready he brought her a bowl along with tea and water and sat back down. He wanted to blame himself, but he knew it wasn’t his fault that she was sick. He was his fault that she had probably made herself sick over worrying about him.

“Mrs. H… I’m sorry. I really am. I…”

Mrs. Hudson patted his hand while balancing the hot bowl on her lap.

“John, what is in the past is the past. No need opening old wounds.”

John nodded and sat back in his chair. “I just… I screwed up.”

“John… Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re trying now, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, I guess.”  

They sat and chatted for a while, John tried to make her as comfortable as he could. When started to grow tired he kissed her on the forehead before standing up.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and check on you. Try to get some sleep, and you’re on bed rest. Doctor’s orders. I’ll come back, I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY! I know its been an age. I've been SOOOO busy.
> 
> I have something awesome planned... well horrible... but awesome to me for the next chapter or two.
> 
> Stick with me! I have a full day off coming up, so I'll be writing a bit more then. I promise~!


	22. 24th August, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little something to show how John is doing.

  
It had been a cold and damp August. Even for London this much rain wasn't normal. It was 8 in the morning and John was just arriving home from a late night case with Lestrade. He had been woken up and left in such a hurry that he forgot to take a coat, and now he was chilled to the bone, the damp seemed to cling to his skin, he wondered if it were even possible to get himself warm again.   
  
He wrapped his blanket around him and sat in the armchair by the window. He knew he should change out of his wet clothes but he was too cold to move. His bad leg had aching pains shooting up it so he leaned forward to massage it. Eventually the pains dulled to a restless ache so he sat up. He ran his hand along his leg and subconsciously traced the outline of Sherlock's iPhone through his rough jeans.   
  
He had tried a few times over the past month to unlock it, but none of his attempts had been successful. He pulled the broken phone out of his pocket and tapped the home button. An almost art like picture of bacteria shone through the cracks on the screen.  
  
John slid his finger across the screen and looked at the numbers until the screen dimmed. He tapped the phone again and continued to stare at the phone. His eyes fell to the three letters that were beneath each number. Until now he hadn't ever considered that the password could be a word. He had just been trying different sequences of numbers.    
  
He sat back and tried to think like Sherlock. He tried to imagine what four letter word would be important enough for the detective to is it as protection for his phone. John thought for a long while then finally he gave his head a little shake,  
  
"There's no way..."  
  
He punched in 5-6-4-6 , or, J-O-H-N. There was a click and then in a second John was staring in disbelief at the home screen.  
  
"No... It... It must be a coincidence. It... Can't be my name. He just chose four random numbers that were easy to punch in.  
  
Not knowing where to start he opened up the notes app. He gave a small sad smile when he saw the numbers notes that were written in what only fold be Sherlock's version of shorthand. He couldn't make sense out of most of them, but John figured that was the point. It was Sherlock's own code.  
  
Next he opened Sherlock's pictures and what he found here surprised him. There were countless pictures of John sitting in his chair at Baker Street either smiling at something or someone, or bent over whatever he had been reading. They were all from Sherlock's point of view, he knew that. Sherlock had taken these without his knowledge. He stopped looking at the pictures when he got to one of himself sleeping. He remembered the night this had been taken. He and sherlock had been out late chasing clues. It was a cold early winter day right before Sherlock's death. John had been cold and exhausted and had talked Sherlock into getting a cab home. He remembered falling asleep on the ride home, but he did not remember falling asleep with his head on Sherlock's shoulder. But according to this picture he had done just that.   
  
He pressed the home button again and this time opened up Sherlock's text messages. There were a few texts from Lestrade, nothing all that interesting, just hashing out details of some of the cases he had helped with. Then there was the text to Mycroft. "LAZARUS" with the reply, "LAZARUS IS GO." According to the time stamps, these had been sent minutes if not seconds before Sherlock jumped to his death. Part of John wanted to march right down to Mycroft's office and demand an answer, but the other half knew that would get him nowhere. He then tapped on the text thread that read "John" and what he found there left him in tears. There was their usual banter, one asking the other to get milk, the texts from that horrible day, but there was one text... One text that had never been sent.  
  
"John, there is something I must say. Something I must tell you. I love you, John. I love you in a way I swore I would never love. It's you, John Watson, it's always you.  
  
John broke down in sobs, he held the phone close to his heart and cried while rocking back and forth. He wondered why the text had never been sent. He must not have gotten a chance to send it. Maybe Moriarty had a close eye on Sherlock and he didn't want Moriarty to see how he truly felt about John. Didn't want to risk his beloved doctors life. Once John had calmed his crying a bit he took a screenshot of that text and used Sherlock's email to email it to himself.   
  
He now had this text and the note from Sherlock. At his first chance, John decided he was going to print out the screenshot and place it in his wallet with the letter. He wanted to show the text to someone, to tell someone that Sherlock Holmes had  loved him. But he was afraid that if Mycroft knew he would take the phone away from him, deeming it too damaging for John's healing process. So for now this would be John's little secret.

He gathered his treasures up and picked out a pair of warm pajamas and made his way down the hall to the bathroom.  He lovingly placed his phone, Sherlock's phone and Sherlock’s letter on the counter next to the sink and settled into a hot bath. For the first time in a very long time John, if asked, could say he was nearly happy. Though there was nothing to be done about it now, Sherlock had loved him. He could say that now with certainty.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again, for how short this is. Work(s) is killing me. I wish I got vacation time. Is it Saturday yet?


	23. 2nd September, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something for Feels Wednesday

 

  
Mycroft checked and double checked the house, making sure he was alone. Greg and John had left about 30 minutes ago for a case, and there was no risk of them returning anytime soon. He locked himself in his office and grabbed the small burner phone he had in his desk. He called the number to Sherlock’s burner phone and drummed his fingers along his desk. There was no answer, typical of his little brother, forcing him to text.

**Mycroft: Brother, you’d better have a good reason for ignoring my call.**

Fifteen minutes passed into half an hour and still no answer from Sherlock. He was just about send another text when the phone buzzed in his hands. He hit the answer button and pressed the phone up to his ear. He was greeted by the annoyed voice of his little brother.

_Sherlock: What is it, Mycroft? I’m in the middle of something._

_Mycroft: Oh, and here I was thinking you would enjoy getting an update on your beloved blogger. But if you are too busy, I can always go._

_Sherlock: I’m listening._

Mycroft gave a satisfied snort before continuing.

_Mycroft: Your plan worked like a charm. Lestrade was able to plant your phone in Baker Street. It was nearly a month before John found it though. He of course hasn’t told me that he’s found it, he probably thinks I don’t know._

_Sherlock: You left the message unsent? Typed it exactly how I told you too?_

_Mycroft: Yes, what do you take me for?_

_Sherlock was silent on the other end, obviously waiting for more information._

_Mycroft: He’s been… happy, Sherlock. It seems that your profession of love did exactly what you wanted._

_Sherlock: Of course it did. Happy? Are you sure, are you really sure, Mycroft?_

_Mycroft:  Of course I’m sure, Sherlock._

_Sherlock: Thank you, My… I want to see him, I want to tell him I’m sorry, want to allow him to vent all his anger in my arms._

Mycroft let out a little sigh of fake annoyance.

_Mycroft: How  close are you to finishing your task?_

_Sherlock: I’d say… halfway done. I fear that the worst is ahead of me. I could use a little backup, if you could spare a few people._

_Mycroft: I’ll see what I can do, brother. I make no promises._

_Sherlock: I understand, thank you._

_Mycroft: Your thanks is unnecessary._

_Sherlock: Well, I hate to cut this family reunion short, but it is late here. If I wish to get any sleep I should get off the phone._

_Mycroft: Very well. Please, do take care of yourself. Your loss would break my heart._

Sherlock gave a sort of half laugh half snort and rang off. Mycroft sat deep in thought for a while. This problem Sherlock was facing in Serbia didn’t bode well, and he feared he was unable to offer any help. Regardless, he would not let anything happen to his brother if he could help it.

“John would have my bloody head if he found out. And surely Sherlock would come back to haunt me.” Mycroft let out a dark chuckle and opened his laptop. He needed to see what contacts he had in Serbia, if any, and see how deep in they were. If he had none, well… he had a little time to set up a plan.

Mycroft pocketed the phone and made his way out of his office, walked into the kitchen and gave a shout of triumph when he spotted a chocolate cake on the counter. He was just sitting down to a slice when the front door slammed shut. He leaned back in his chair until he had a clear view into the front hall. It was empty, and there were no sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Picking up his plate he stuck his fork in his mouth and walked to the front door. He opened the door and watched as the limping figure of John could be seen getting into the driver's seat of the car Mycroft had lent him and drove off.

Mycroft dug the phone out of his pocket and redialed Sherlock’s number. On the second ring Sherlock answered.

_Sherlock: What has happened?_

_Mycroft: I seemed to have made a mistake, Lockie._

_As he talked he placed the plate and fork down and started furiously typing on his personal phone._

_Sherlock: What. Kind. Of. Mistake?_

_Mycroft: John was here, he just stormed out. Sherlock, he must have overheard… I’m sorry. I made sure the house was clear. He must have entered the house while I was on the phone with you._

_Sherlock: Get me a plane, now!  I’m coming back, if you don’t help me then I’ll do it myself._

_Mycroft: There will be a private jet waiting for you in ten minutes. Code is Voyager._

Mycroft stuffed the burner phone into his pocket and soon was on the phone with Anthea while furiously searching the house for his keys.

“Honestly, Gregory… How many times have I told you not to touch my keys… Shit, I need to call Gregory.” He punched Greg’s number in and cursed at the phone until he picked up.

_Greg: Well, if this isn't’ a sur-_

_Mycroft: John was here, he overheard me talking to Sherlock. He took off in a car and I can’t find my bloody keys._

_Greg: Bollocks! They’re in the bowl on the table near the front door. Where should I go?_

_Mycroft: If I know John at all, he’ll go to the cemetery._

_Greg: Right, I’m only about 20 minutes out, should get there round the same time you do._

_Mycroft could hear Greg barking orders to someone and soon had his full attention again._

_Greg: I’m sorry, I should have warned you. I sent John back to get my badge._

_Mycroft: Yes, you should have, but that isn’t important. What is important is finding John before he does something incredibly stupid._

_Greg: I’ll call Mrs. Hudson, have her watch for John there. I’ve also sent someone to check the local known drug dens._

Mycroft: Thank you. I’m en-route. Call me if you find him.

  


♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

Greg barked a few orders at his men as he ran through the muddy crime scene. He cursed himself for sending John back to the house without first telling Mycroft. He slipped on a patch of mud and caught himself a street lamp before he went crashing down into a puddle. Using the pole for leverage he swung himself around at an angle and took off through the roped off parking lot to his car. One he was in his car and sheltered from the rain he pulled out his phone and called Mrs. Hudson.

_Mrs. Hudson: Oh hello, dear._

_Greg: This is very important, have you seen John?_

_Mrs. Hudson: John? No, not in a week or so. Is something wrong, Greg?_

Greg sighed before answering.

_Greg: Mycroft certainly thinks so. Please, if you see John call me right away. Mycroft and I are out searching for him now. Neither of us think he’ll go to Baker Street, but knowing that you’re keeping a lookout for us will be helpful._

_Mrs. Hudson: Of course, dear. Please let me know when you’ve found him._

_Greg: Will do._

Greg placed his phone between his legs and soon he was tearing through London. He pulled up to the cemetery just as Mycroft’s car was coming to a screeching halt. A quick glance at his phone offered him no news from the men he had searching the drug dens. He jumped out of the car and ran in Mycroft’s direction.

“No word yet. Mrs. Hudson will keep an eye out.” Greg shouted as he ran. It was now raining hard the wind bringing sheets of cold rain biting into their faces, whipping his long coat in the air behind him. Mycroft said nothing but took off in the direction of Sherlock’s grave. Greg had never been a praying man, but now he found himself praying that they would find John, and find him alive and well. As they drew closer Greg’s heart sank. Leaning up against the stone was the drenched figure of John. They shouted to him, but there was no response, not even a flinch.

Greg was the first to reach John. He sank to his knees and reached for John’s wrist to find a pulse. As he lifted John’s wrist something fell out of his hand and landed in the wet grass. Mycroft bent, picked it up and cursed while holding it out for Greg to see. It was the now empty bottle of John’s antidepressants.

“How full was it?” Greg asked turning his attention back to John, still trying to find a pulse.

“According to the refill date… full. He refilled it three days ago.”

“Aha!” Greg gave a shout of triumph. “I found a pulse, but its weak. Mycroft we need an ambulance now!”

“Already on it.” Mycroft was already on the phone calling for an ambulance. After hanging up he placed his phone in his pocket to shield it from the rain. “Greg, should we move him to the road?”

“The cop in me says no, but screw it. Grab his other arm.”

They were just making it to their cars when the ambulance pulled up, sirens and lights blaring. Two paramedics jumped out and were soon rolling a stretcher over to them. Without waiting to be asked what happened Mycroft began barking instructions. He showed the paramedics the empty bottle and explained that John had been fighting depression.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes.” The younger of the paramedics spoke up as they were securing the stretcher inside the ambulance. “If he swallowed that... “

“Spare me your pity and get this man to Hospital.”

“Yes, Sir. Will either of you be joining us, or are you taking your own cars.”

Greg spoke up right away. “I’ll go. Mycroft my keys are still in my car, please see to them.” Without looking back Greg stepped into the ambulance and shut the door behind him. The second Greg was buckled they took off in the direction of the hospital.

Greg stayed out of the way, and watched as the paramedics worked. Soon John’s shirt had been ripped open and he was attached to a heart monitor. Greg watched as the faint pulse flickered on the screen. It was steady for a few seconds but then as the paramedics moved around John it suddenly stopped.

“What’s happening?”

Greg received no answer. The paramedics ignored him in favor of grabbing the paddles.

“Someone tell me what the hell is going on!”  Greg looked at his watch and then back to the heart monitor which was still flat lining.

One of the paramedics rubbed the paddles together and shouted, “Clear”

Greg watched as John’s body arched off the table then his eyes flicked back to the monitor.

“Come on, John… Don’t do this.”

After the second attempt with the paddles the ambulance stopped and the doors flew open. Nurses were rushing out to meet them. One of them touched Greg on the arm and motioned for him to step out the side door.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we have to ask you to wait in the waiting room.”

“You don’t understand, I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade. That man is under my care.”

“You can’t go with him.”

“For the love of…”

“Sir, we can have you wait just outside the room.”

“That’s fine. A mister Mycroft Holmes should be arriving at the hospital any moment now. Please have him brought to me the second he gets here.”

“Very well sir. You may follow the stretcher to the room, but you must wait out in the hall.”

Greg followed John and the rush of Doctors, nurses and the paramedics through the halls.  He watched as they attempted to restart John’s heart, and listened to them shout back and forth. Every part of him was numb, he refused to believe that his friend was dead. As they turned into a room one of the nurses put her hand on Greg to stop him and pointed to a set of chairs.

“We’ll let you know…”

Greg nodded and sat. After a few seconds Greg pulled his phone out and sent Mycroft a text.

**Greg: John’s heart stopped on the way here. They’ve been trying to bring him back. It's been 4 minutes.**

Greg held his face in his hands and was startled when there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. He looked up and was greeted by the grim face of Mycroft looking questioningly at him. Greg shook his head and leaned against the wall.

“Four minutes, you said?”

Greg looked at his watch, “Five now. 3 more before brain damage.”

Mycroft pulled a phone out of his pocket and tapped out a message.

“Your brother?”

“Yes, he’s on his way here. I didn't have the heart to stop him.”

“Let’s hope he’s not coming home for a funeral. Listen… I’m sorry I didn’t te-”

“Gregory, this is in no way your fault. I should have been more careful when I called him.”

Greg nodded and slipped his hand into Mycroft’s. They fell into silence and as the seconds ticked into minutes. Just when their patients were about all used up, a tired looking nurse stepped out of the room. Both men jumped to their feet. Mycroft was the first to ask the question that was on both of their minds.

“Is he alive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about that MCD tag....


	24. 2nd September, 2012 (John)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before we fully move on to how John is...
> 
> Here is John's side.

John pulled up in front of the house, leaving the keys in the ignition he hurried up the front steps as best he could. He had been happy when Greg had cursed and exclaimed that he’d left his badge at home. John immediately offered to run home and fetch it. The freezing rain was bothering his leg, and he looked forward to the chance to warm up in the car.  

John was quiet when he entered the house, knowing that Mycroft was probably in his office working. He made his way quietly into the kitchen. Greg had said his badge would either be on the table or up in the bathroom he shared with Mycroft. He heard Mycroft’s voice as he passed the office on his way to the kitchen. Trying to respect the man’s privacy he hurried past.  Entering the kitchen at the far end of the hall he grinned when he spotted Greg’s badge.

As John walked back into the hall, and past Mycroft’s office a something caught his ear.

“He’s been… happy, Sherlock”

John paused to listen for a moment, but he couldn’t quite make anything else out. His heart raced at Sherlock’s name. Had Mycroft been talking about Sherlock? That seemed unlikely, Mycroft never talked about his brother. It sounded as if he had been talking too Sherlock.

The text to Mycroft on the day of his death came to John’s mind. “Lazarus.” “Lazarus is go.”  Could Sherlock possibly be alive? If so why hadn’t he reached out to him, why was he letting him suffer?  Was this all just some cruel joke? An experiment? See just how much John Watson could handle?

John could feel the anger coursing through his veins. He wanted to storm into Mycroft’s office, rip the phone from his disgusting fingers and scream at Sherlock, if that even was who was on the other end. Everything he had gone through in the past few months came to John’s mind. Why hadn’t either of them stopped him? Why?  

John listened for a few moments longer, but couldn’t discern any of the words. He tightened his grip on his cane and moved through the hall and up the stairs. Anger clouded his vision and he moved as if on autopilot. He had been planning to grab a dry coat from his room. His right hand was clenched around his cane while his left hand was trembling violently by his side.

He stood in his room for a moment before making up his mind. He refused to be played with, refused to be the object of an experiment. He grabbed a dry coat, his bottle of antidepressants, and left his room in a whirl of denim.

John stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, daring Mycroft to follow him. He limped to the car as quickly as he was able, slid into the driver's seat and tore out of driveway. He pounded the steering wheel with his fist and screamed into the silence of the car. He didn’t articulate words, just vented his anger to the windshield. He blindly drove through the city, unaware of where he was until he pulled up to the far end of the cemetery. He turned the car off and sat for a moment, watching the rain splash against the windshield.  John pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his blog, if Sherlock was alive this was the only way he knew of reaching him.

 

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

2nd September, 2012

 

I know you’re alive, Sherlock. I heard, I bloody heard. Why would you do this to me?

Well, this is my note. I refuse to be part of one of your sodding experiments.

 

♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆

 

John tossed his phone, Sherlock’s phone, and Sherlock’s letter onto the seat beside him. His left hand clenched around the bottle in his pocket as he stepped out of the car. He locked the doors and tossed the keys onto the seat before slamming the door shut. John was on the side of the cemetery closest to Sherlock’s grave so it only took him a minute to walk there.

As the black stone came into sight John gave a bitter laugh. It was fitting, that he should kill himself here, in the freezing rain. He sat down on the wet ground, tossed his cane as far as he could manage. He stretched his left leg out so he could reach into his pocket. He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and stared at it.

“What did you think was going to happen, eh, Sherlock? That I wouldn’t find out?”

John tipped his head back against the cold wet stone, popped the cover off and poured the contents of the bottle into his mouth. It took him a few tries to swallow all the tablets, by the time he got the last of them down the coating had worn off and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he didn’t care, nothing would matter soon. And if he was wrong about Sherlock? Well, that didn’t matter either.

John kept his face tipped towards the heavens, enjoying the feeling of the cold rain splashing on his face, washing his tears away. He knew his body would be found soon, and he at least wanted the dignity of going out like a man, not of a crying child.  As darkness slowly crept through his body, clawing at his mind, he was vaguely aware of sirens in the background and someone shouting his name. He allowed himself a small smile, it was too late, they were too late. He let out one final haggard breath before giving in to the darkness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, I promise there will be feels, but think long and hard...
> 
> Could I actually kill John? Remember, in the cover page I promised that if you stuck with me, there will be a happy ending.


	25. 2nd September, 2012 (Sherlock)

Sherlock arrived at the hospital 10 hours after the last phone call with Mycroft. Other than a text saying they had brought John by ambulance to a hospital, and which hospital they were at, he hadn’t received an update. He stole into the back entrance, checked to make sure his disguise was still intact and sent his brother a text.

** Sherlock: I’m here, please for the love of God tell me John is ok. **

** Mycroft: This should be said in person. Meet me by the lift on the third floor. **

Sherlock practically ran up the stairs, only stopping for a moment to catch his breath before walking out onto the third floor. He looked around for his brother, not seeing him he found a chair and sat, tapping his foot impatiently. After a few minutes Mycroft came around the bend and Sherlock’s heart sank to his toes. Mycroft looked like hell, he looked.. well as if someone had died.

Forgetting that he was supposed to be blending in and not drawing attention to himself he stood and took three long strides and was at his brother’s side, hissing in his ear.

“You’d best be able to tell me that John Watson isn’t dead.”

“Follow me, Sherlock, before you get yourself noticed.”

“Tell me,” Sherlock said through clenched teeth, “is John dead?”

Mycroft said nothing, but continued walking. He lead Sherlock to a room at the end of the hall. Mycroft motioned for Sherlock to enter first, stepped in after his little brother and closed the door behind him. The room was on the larger side, it had one bed in it, and the bed was blocked from view by a privacy curtain. Lestrade stood on their side of the curtain, hands in his pockets. Whirring and beeping came from behind him. Sherlock looked from his brother to Lestrade questioningly.

“He knows, Sherlock. And take that ridiculous beard off.” Mycroft locked the door and stepped forward. “I judge that we will be undisturbed for at least 15 minutes.”

Sherlock took the full black beard off his face, tossed it onto the nearest chair and flexed his jaw. He started to step towards the curtain but Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder.

“Brother mine, please prepare yourself.”

Sherlock shrugged Mycroft’s hand off and darted towards the curtain unsure in which state he would find John. He pushed the curtain aside and took a step back at the sight. Death would have been kinder for John. He was barechested, laying on his back, arms placed unnaturally at his sides, wires and heart monitors were attached to his chest. But it was the tube sticking out of John’s mouth breathing for him that made Sherlock rush the remaining steps to John’s side.

“He was dead for 7.3 minutes, Sherlock.”

“Brain damage?” Sherlock never took his eyes off John, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach out and touch him.

“They can’t say. He hasn’t woken up. They give him a 50/50 chance.”

“Please leave me.”

“Sherlock…”

“Mycroft, not another word, just leave. Now.” Mycroft stretched his hand out to Greg and together they left the room. Sherlock dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and sat next to John for a moment.

“John, oh my John.” Sherlock reached forward and gently took John’s hand. “I love you, please John, I love you. I saw your blog, I promise, this was not an experiment. John, I left because I had too. Moriarty was going to kill you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. He had guns  trained on you and If I didn’t jump, you were all dead. You know I value myself far too much to allow myself to be killed. I just wish I had been smart enough to take you with me.”

Sherlock sat with John for a few moments before getting back up and looking around the room for John’s medical charts. He found and read the charts and toss them back down wishing he hadn’t read them. He had died three times on them, the longest being as Mycroft said for 7.3 minutes, the other two times about a minute each, he had been unresponsive and stopped breathing for himself about two hours ago. 

The news caused him to go weak kneed and he was forced to sit back down. This time he pulled the chair all the way to the edge of the bed and placed his head on John’s chest. He hated how cold John was, hated that the rise and fall of his chest was only because of the damn machine. There was a slight knock at the door and Sherlock sat up, wiping a tear away from his eyes just as Mycroft stepped into the room. Mycroft slowly walked to his brother’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve had a talk with the doctors. There will be limited staff allowed in this room. You are free to stay here for as long as you wish, the staff know not to breathe a word. I happen to have a few trusted people on payroll here.”

“Thank you, brother. I require fresh clothes.”

“I’ll see to it personally.”

“A better chair, too. Not this hard wooden one. One that reclines, please. I will not be leaving his side for any reason until John wakes up.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Mycroft, one more word and you will find me less than pleasant. Now do as I say and leave me alone.”

Greg had been standing just outside the door while the brothers were talking. Sensing the anger rising up in Sherlock he quickly stepped in and took his boyfriend’s hand.

“Come on, Myc, we’ve done all we can here. They’ll call us with any change. Sherlock, do you mind if we visit?”

“No,” Sherlock sighed and nuzzled his head on John’s chest, trying to ignore how faint his heart was, “of course I don’t mind. I just wish to be alone with him right now.”

“Very well.” Mycroft looked at his watch, it was nearly 7pm. “I’ll call after we eat supper. Speaking of supper, please eat something. You’re looking…” Mycroft wrinkled his nose, “gaunt.”

“Life on the run, doesn’t bode well for one's figure.”

Mycroft nodded and soon he and Greg were walking down the hall. A short while later there was another knock on the door. This time it was a young man dressed in scrubs dragging a chair behind him.

“I was instructed to bring this to you, sir. Where would you like it?”

“Ah yes, right here will do.” Sherlock grudgingly stood up and moved aside so the chairs could be replaced. “Also, could you see to a few extra blankets? John is cold to the touch, and he doesn’t do well with the cold. Also, I believe I will be staying here until he has recovered, so I could use a blanket and pillow myself.” _“Until he has recovered. Not if”_ Sherlock told himself.

“Of course, Sir.”

Sherlock settled himself down in the new chair and held John’s hand in both of his. He didn’t like how cold John was. He knew they had purposely lowered his body temperature when he had died, but it was very unlike John to be cold. John was warm, he was life. Now he lay pale, chest only rising because of the machine, and cold. Sherlock repositioned his blankets, trying to cover his bare chest as best as he could without disturbing the wires attached to him or his IV. Finding himself dissatisfied with the covers Sherlock carefully crawled into the bed and snaked his body around John’s placing right hand directly over John’s heart.

“Don’t leave me, John. Don’t leave me like I left you. I’m not strong enough to handle it. I love you, and I need you here waiting for me to come back. You’re my reason, John, my reason for… everything.” Sherlock watched the monitors as he spoke and noticed in alarm how weak John’s heart was. “Your heart is weak, I can’t handle it going out on me. I came all this way for you, John, just for you.”

Sherlock’s head was resting on the bed just above John’s right shoulder. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to John’s cheek. Finding himself on the verge of tears he closed his eyes and force himself to stop staring at the monitor. He tried to pretend he was with John, back home at Baker Street, that everything was okay. But the constant whirring and beeping of the machines told him another story. The whirring told him how John was only breathing with the help of a machine and the beeping reminded him that John’s heart could give out at any moment. And it was all his fault.

About twenty minutes after Sherlock had arrived a Doctor and two nurses stepped into the room. Sherlock clung to John protectively and glared at them, daring them to try and move him. The Doctor did nothing of the sort, instead he sat down in one of the smaller chairs along the wall and gave Sherlock a grim smile.

“I’m Dr. Matthews, these ladies are my personal nurses.” Dr. Matthews pointed to the the taller of the two, “This is Mandie, and this is Zoe. These ladies and I will be overseeing John’s stay with us. Zoe will take the night shift, and Mandie will take the day. I will be on call 24/7.” He placed a card with their personal pager numbers on the table beside Sherlock and sat back down while one of the nurses placed a pile of blankets and a pillow on the chair with Sherlock’s fake beard.

“John’s stay? You make it sound like he’s visiting some luxury hotel.” Sherlock still refused to budge off the bed.

“Would recovery be better? We do try to make everything as easy as we can for the family members.”

“I prefer it when people speak the truth.”

“Then recovery it is. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how… dire… the situation is.”

“I am fully aware that when, not if, John wakes up there is a chance his brain will not function properly.”

“Are you aware that he was found with his head facing up?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was raining, hard.”

“Oh.” Sherlock’s heart sank, that meant there was some chance of water in John’s lungs.

“We’ve scheduled him for an X-Ray, need to get a proper look at his lungs.”

“When is it?”

“Now, well, shortly. They’re going to bring the machine here. We think it best that we move John as little as possible.”

Sherlock nodded into John’s shoulder.

“But, that will mean, Mr. Holmes, that you’ll have to move. I am incredibly sorry.” As Dr. Matthews talked the two nurses stepped outside and began wheeling a cart inside.

Sherlock let out a breath of hot hair through his nose and began to untangle himself from John. He was careful not to disturb a single wire or to bump his IV. One he was sitting back on his chair he took John’s hand in his and rubbed small circles on the palm of his hand.

“Please don’t make me leave his side. It’s my fault he’s like this.”

“As long as you wear this, we’ll have no reason to move you.” Zoe handed Sherlock a lead apron and moved back to the cart. Sherlock put the heavy apron on and stood near John’s head and watched as the team worked. Within ten minutes Dr. Matthews was satisfied with their results, they gathered the equipment and aprons, and stepped out of the room with a promise to return as soon as he had the results.

Sherlock retrieved the blankets and placed the pillow on the reclining chair. He arranged one of the blankets over John’s chest and placed the rest on the chair with the pillow. He very carefully climbed back onto the bed and resumed his earlier position. He stayed there unaware of the passing time until his phone rang. He carefully pulled it out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear, talking quietly.

_ Sherlock: Hello, Mycroft. _

_ Mycroft: Why are you whispering, did John wake? _

_ Sherlock: No… I don’t know. I guess I’d rather think he’s sleeping than in a coma. _

_ Mycroft: I’m on my way back, I have some clothes for you. I’ll pick you up some supper on my way. _

_ Sherlock: I’m guessing that wasn’t a question? _

_ Mycroft: No. _

_ Sherlock:  Chinese, that place on Baker Street. _

_ Mycroft: Any change? _

_ Sherlock: No, but they took X-rays. They’re afraid John might have water in his lungs. _

Mycroft was silent for a moment before speaking gently.

_ Mycroft: That is a possibility… Let me know whey they have the results. I should be there within the hour. _

_ Sherlock: Of course. _

Sherlock placed the phone on the table beside him and wrapped himself back around John. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until his brother was gently tapping him on the shoulder.

“I hate to wake you, but Dr. Matthews was just here.”

“How long have you been here?” Sherlock rubbed his eyes and gently pulled himself from John’s side to sit on the edge of his bed, facing his brother who had perched himself in the reclining chair.

“About 45 minutes. I didn’t dare disturb you.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled himself off the bed, but not before tenderly kissing John on the forehead.

“You said Dr. Matthews was here? Did he have news?” Sherlock moved to the small table that must have been placed in the room while he was sleeping. It now had a takeaway container sitting on top of it.

“Yes. He said it was as he feared. There are trace amounts of liquid in John’s lungs. He said John will be under careful watch for pneumonia over the next several days.”

Sherlock stared thoughtfully into his food before taking a bite. “This is bad, Mycroft.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“I shouldn’t have left him.”

“Sherlock, you did what you had to do. Neither of us could see just how badly John would take it.”

“I want to take him with me.”

“Out of the question.”

“Mycroft, his life isn’t yours to dictate.”

“No? Who’s taken care of him since you left?”

“When he wakes up, I’m giving him the choice to come with me. I can’t have him suffering anymore.”

“Sherlock, I must warn you about this…” Mycroft stopped talking when Sherlock gave him a dejected look. “Well, it isn’t wise.”

“I don’t care. I fought my feelings for John Watson for too long, because I told myself it wasn’t wise to allow them. Well I don’t give a rats arse anymore, Mycroft. If John wants to come with me, then he can. I will not lie to him anymore.”

Sherlock ate the rest of his meal in silence, fully aware that Mycroft hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. He pushed the empty container aside and leaned back in the chair, elbows on the armrests, placing his fingertips just below his nose.

“What?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sherlock.” Mycroft scrunched up his nose and pretended to inspect his watch.

“You’ve been staring at me. You’ve even agreed with me. Why?”

“Can’t a man be nice to his younger brother?”

“Yes, but you? No.”

“Sherlock, I’ve... “ Mycroft sighed and shifted in his chair. “I’ve been worried about you. Seeing you, is… refreshing. And watching you eat… it had been what, four days since your last meal?”

“Five. But they gave me a snack on the plane. Peanuts, if you’d believe it.”

“I told them to feed you, clearly they misunderstood me.”

Sherlock eyed the bag sitting next to Mycroft’s feet. “Clean clothes?”

“Yes, and toiletries.” Mycroft tossed the bag to Sherlock who caught it without effort, “There are showers located just down the hall, second door on the right. I’ll sit with John until you come back.”

Sherlock nodded, gathered the bag up in his arms and walked to the door before turning back to look at John. “Get me, if anything changes.”

“You’ll be the second to know.”

Sherlock walked out of the room and headed off for a much needed shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEEEEEE.... I couldn't actually KILL John.


	26. 5th September, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***PLEASE NOTE***
> 
> My internet has been down more than up. And verizon (internet provider) has been LESS than helpful..
> 
> SOOO this hasn't really been check over by my beta as we do everything over Google Docs and that requires internet. 
> 
> I really do apologize, and I'm very sorry if my internet prevents me from getting an update up soon. As I've typed this summery I've lost internet connection three times.... Here's hoping it'll stay on long enough to post this.

 

Sherlock tossed and turned on the recliner, begging sleep to come claim him. Instead his mind just laughed at him, his thoughts pushing all hope of sleep aside. He rolled over, letting out an annoyed sigh glanced at the clock. The bright red numbers told him it was 2:05 A.M. The night nurse, Zoe, would be coming to check on John in ten minutes.

There had been no change in John’s condition since his arrival. Doctor Matthews said that was a good thing, but Sherlock could read through his professional assurance. He could tell something was amiss by the way the doctor fretted over John’s charts, eyed the monitors anxiously, and how he held his breath for a second before addressing Sherlock. That was the reason for Sherlock’s restless sleep. Sherlock made up his mind that if the doctor refused to share his concerns, he was going to take a look at John’s medical records, however illegal it might be. He simply needed to know.

With the impending arrival of the nurse Sherlock sat up and flicked on the small lamp on the table beside him. If he couldn’t sleep he was determined to make good use of his time, and there was much work to be done. After months of radio silence, Moran had reappeared on the map, and Sherlock refused to let him slip away again.

Moran might not be the last puzzle piece, but he was the most dangerous. If he could take Moran down, the rest of the network would scatter into the wind, and Sherlock could finally be free. As much as the very notion of leaving John was, he feared that it might become unavoidable if Moran was within his reach. He was just sending off instructions to his own network when there was a soft tap on the door. Sherlock rubbed his fingers along his temple and looked up. Zoe was a tall slender young woman. African-American, and judging by her accent she had not been in England long.

“Can’t sleep?” She smiled sympathetically as she went about checking on John’s vitals.

“No. Too much on my mind.” Sherlock was about to turn back to his tablet when he saw the nurses expression change from concentration to apprehension. Within seconds she had her stethoscope out and was listening to John’s lungs. Sherlock didn’t need to be told what that meant.

“How bad?” He moved hurriedly to John’s side and brushed his too-long hair off his forehead. Sherlock noted in alarm how hot John’s forehead was, only then noticing the beads of sweat on his brow.  He silently chided himself for not paying closer attention.

“There is faint wheezing in his left lung, but right now it is his temperature that concerns me most.” She moved around the room and was soon attaching another bag to John’s IV. “If his fever hasn’t subsided in the next half hour, I’ll call Matthews in.”

Sherlock nodded and fixed his attention to the monitor and watched in horror as John’s oxygen levels began to drop. Zoe seemed to notice at the same time. She moved quickly to the ventilator and raised the amount of oxygen John was receiving. John’s levels began to even out and Sherlock let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He pulled his chair close to the bed and sat, holding John’s hand.

“Come on, John… You’ve got to stay strong for me. I need you.”

Sherlock placed his forehead on the bed next to his hand and watched as the nurse check his blood pressure. She seemed satisfied, wrapped her stethoscope around her neck and straightened.

“His B.P. is fine, good for his state, temperature is high, but not alarmingly so,” She check over her chart, “his oxygen levels are concerning me. I’m going to go put a call into Dr. Matthews.” Sherlock nodded and thanked her as she left. He held John’s hand in his and traced circles along the back of his hand.

“John, you need to fight this. I need you to wake up, I’m here, I’m right beside you. Please, John.”

Sherlock’s head was only a few inches from their entwined hands. He traced his eyes up John’s arm and felt his gut twist knowing that only a few months ago that arm had been covered in needle marks. He gave John’s hand a gentle squeeze and trailed his eyes back down to John’s fingers. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believe it. He would have told himself he had imagined it. John squeezed his hand back. It was brief, it was weak, but it was wonderful.

“John? Did you do that?” Sherlock squeezed again, his heart pounding in excitement, head full of hope. “Do it again for me, darling.” John’s index finger gave a slight twitch before becoming still again. Not one to give up so easily, Sherlock brought John’s fingers to his lips and kissed each one. “It’s alright, you did well, John. We’ll do that again in the morning. I’ll be right back, I promise. I’m just going to use to loo and tell the nurse what you did.”

When Sherlock returned he found himself slightly disappointed that John wasn’t sitting up in his bed demanding to go home. After tossing and turning in the recliner for a short while, he got up and carefully crawled into bed with John. His long figure made it difficult, and he was a bit cramped, the discomfort was nothing compared to knowing that John was close. He managed to get nearly comfortable on his side, his back pressed into the guardrail on the bed, his torso against John’s arm and shoulder, one arm above John’s head, the other over his chest.

“John,” Sherlock murmured into John’s ear, as if John could actually hear him, “when you’re ready, I’ll take you away from here. Mycroft won't stop you from coming with me this time.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and nuzzled against John’s shoulder, pressing soft kisses against his bare skin. It was in this position that Dr. Matthews found him the next morning.

Sherlock woke to Doctor Matthews attending to John while trying hard not to disturb him. Sherlock carefully sat up and rolled his shoulders, his left arm was asleep and his hand was tingling.

"I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you, Sherlock."

"How's John? The fever?" Sherlock rubbed the sleep from his eyes,  slipped off the bed and moved to the chair, allowing the doctor more freedom to move around the bed.

"Ta." Matthews hung a new bag of medication and attached it to John's drip line. "Fever is being controlled, we're keeping him on the medication for a few more hours before we see how he does off of it. His fever spiked dangerously high while you slept."

Anger flowed through Sherlock. "I need to be informed the second there is a change with him. If I am sleeping, you are to wake me. Is that clear?"

The doctor did not seem taken aback by Sherlock's anger. "I will make sure the nurses know."

"Last night, the nurse, Zoe, was listening to his lungs. I saw the concern written on her face. Don't pretend something isn't wrong."

"I'm afraid John is at very high risk of infection. We're going to attempt to drain the fluid out of his lungs."

"Why are you just doing this now? John has been in your car for days, Doctor."

"He was very weak when he arrived here, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat back and looked at John. Stubble covered his chin, he was in need of a haircut, and he was dangerously thin. "He squeezed my hand last night, don't patronize me by telling me it was a mere twitch, I know what I felt and saw."

"Were you talking to him? There is some evidence that suggests coma patients can hear, sometimes understand, what is going on around them. He was technicals dead for 7.3 minutes, I won't lie, if he does wake up... There is a chance he won't be the same." Sherlock nodded his head.

"You're fond of experiments, aren't you? Your brother told me. Let's put John to the test." Sherlock looked at the doctor with furrowed brows. "Talk to him, Sherlock. He'll respond best to someone close to him, a family member, or... Husband?"

"Husband?" Sherlock blinked and snapped his head to look at the doctor."

 "I'm sorry, I assumed. I've only seen spouses spend this much time with my patients."

"No, not married. Not even together... I sort of, left him. He doesn't even know I'm back in town." The doctor gratefully said nothing in reply, but motioned Sherlock to moved to John's side.

"Talk to him, let's see if we can get him to react."

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, placed John's hand in his lap. "Come on, John, show the doctor what you did. Fight for me, don't you dare give up on me." Sherlock squeezed John's hand as he talked, and brought them to his lips. He trailed John's knuckles over his lips. Sherlock talked to John for a full ten minutes without even the slightest indication that John was comprehending any of it.

"Ah, well, we'll try again. Maybe tomorrow, I fear he might need time to rest after we drain his lungs." The doctor placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm asking too much of you. I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered against John's fingers as the doctor made his way out of the room. The slow beep indicating John's heartbeat suddenly quickened ever so slightly causing the doctor to turn around and Sherlock to hold his breath.  

"Did he just...?"

"I do believe so. He's in there, Sherlock. He can hear you."

  
"Thank you, John…” Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a kiss to John’s temple and smiled. John was more stubborn perhaps even than he was. It was almost like John had just rolled his eyes at him, telling him not to give up so easily. “Just rest, you’ve got a long day ahead of you. I promise, I wont leave your side even if I have to disguise myself as a doctor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me... without internet I can't really research any of the medical "stuff" I so very much want to include in this fic. So instead of half assing it, I am going to attempt to research stuff when/if my internet comes back.


	27. 10th September, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not claim to know ANYTHINg about medical anything ever. 
> 
> So please don't judge me for this chapter.

John had declined in the last day. Sherlock had been woken from a fitful sleep by the alarm of one of the monitors hooked up to John. His heartbeat was dropping rapidly. Sherlock mashed the call button and frantically dialed the doctor's number. The sleep heavy voice of the doctor picked up after a few rings.

“Sherlock?”

“His B.P. is dropping, he isn’t getting enough oxygen, and I fear he is heading to cardiac arrest.”

“I’m on my way. Zoe?”

Sherlock looked up as the door opened. “Here.” He hung up and placed the phone on the table. “We need a crash cart, or we’re going to lose him.”

Zoe didn’t question Sherlock, she stepped outside the door and barked orders to the nurses station across the hall. Within seconds John’s room was alive with people, one of them pushing Sherlock back down into his chair. He watched in horror as John’s heart stopped, restarted, stopped again just to be shocked back to life. He picked up his phone and with shaking hands started to type out a message to his brother. He gave up quickly though, after realizing he was too shaky to type properly, instead he was forced to call him.

_ Mycroft: It’s late, Sherlock, what’s wrong. _

_ Sherlock: He’s crashing… I’m watching him die on me. _

_ Mycroft: Bollocks, I’m on my way. _

Mycroft was true to his word, and arrived at the hospital with Doctor Matthews on his heels, just as the nurses were leaving the room. Both men looked questioningly from Sherlock, to John and to Zoe. Zoe was the first to talk.

“He crashed, twice on us. He is stable… for the moment, but his BP is dangerously low.”

“How low?”

“BP of 50/20 with an irregular, weak tachycardia pulse.” Matthews cursed at this and he pulled Zoe aside the two consulted in low tones while Mycroft walked to his brothers side. Mycroft offered Sherlock a hand, pulled him up out of the chair and surprised his brother by pulling him into a hug.  Neither man spoke, but Sherlock threw his arms around his brother and allowed himself time to grieve.

After a short time Mycroft pulled Matthews into the hall, telling Sherlock to stay with John. He stepped back into the room a few moments later looking grim.

“It isn’t good, Lockie. Matthews agreed that it would be best if he slept here the next few nights.”

Sherlock said nothing, just held his face in his hands. Mycroft walked to Sherlock, knelt on the ground in front of him and placed both hands on Sherlock’s knees.

“It isn’t good, but hope is not lost. Don’t give up on him.”

Sherlock nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. He spent the remainder of the night sitting by John’s bed, watching him. His eyes would flick from the monitors to John, then to Mycroft who had settled down in one of the chairs and was working on his tablet.

“You don’t have to stay, Myc.” Sherlock whispered, as if he didn’t want to wake John.

“I don’t relish the idea of leaving you alone, brother. I’ll stay the night.” He eyed his little brother with concern. “It appears that you need someone to take care of you. When was the last time you ate?”

“What day is it?”

“Monday. The tenth.”

“Three days then.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft’s voice was both full of concern and warning.

“I’m fine, Mycroft. I’m not the one confined to a hospital bed, in a coma because of an overdose!”

“So, we’ve finally come down to it?” Mycroft placed his tablet down and looked at his brother.

“Mycroft, it is my fault he is here. Had I just..” 

“Just what, Sherlock? We’ve gone over this.”

Sherlock gave a grunt of frustration and glared at his brother.

“Sherlock, go shower. You’re worked up, and the last thing you want is for the staff to tell you to leave. Go shower, calm down, then come back and we’ll talk about this like adults.”

Sherlock was about to tell Mycroft off, but when he saw the look in his brother’s eye he knew he was right. He hadn’t said it out of anger, or as a command, he had said it out of love and concern.

Sherlock stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped to the sink. He rubbed his hand over the fog on the mirror and looked at his reflection. He was haggard, thin - thinner than when he arrived, and the deep bags under his eyes showed just how tired he was. He had a few days worth of stubble on his chin, but he couldn’t be bothered to shave, that required effort, and all his strength belonged to John right now. He threw on a clean t-shirt and sweats and headed back to John’s room.

He entered John’s room and took up his stop by John’s bed. He cupped one of John’s hands in both of his and rested his forehead on their hands. “Mycroft, I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. Am I being selfish? Should I think about taking him off the ventilator? Is this what he would want?”

“Brother… You’re not being selfish. John is the epitome of stubborn, perhaps even more so than you. Don’t give up on him.”

“Myc? Could you get me something to eat?”

Mycroft saw his baby brother in Sherlock as he watched him. His heart melted and yearned for the boy he used to carry on his shoulders. “Of course, Lockie. Fish fingers?”

“And custard.” Sherlock offered his brother a small smile.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

Sherlock rested his head on the side of the bed, face pointed towards John’s head, and closed his eyes. Being alone, he allowed himself to shed silent tears while pressing John’s hand against his lips. After a few minutes he stilled in surprise. John’s finger was brushing itself against his lips, back and forth, never stopping. Sherlock dared to open his eyes and looked up at John and his heart fluttered at the sight. John was awake! Despite wanting to be alone with his John, Sherlock pressed the call button and pushed himself up off the bed, still holding John’s hand.

“John… I…” Sherlock faltered for words, but he was comforted by John giving his hand a weak squeeze. “I’m sorry. I promise, everything will be explained.” John nodded his head once before stilling and  wincing in pain. 

Matthews and Mandie walked into the room, both of them gave a cry of surprise when they saw John’s eyes open.

“Dr. Watson! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, I’m your attending, Matthews. This is one of your nurses, Mandie.” Matthews set about checking John’s vitals and listening to his lungs. “What do you say we lower your oxygen intake, and see how well you handle that?” Matthews looked from John to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked John in the eyes, trying to determine if John was ready when John answered for him. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand in quick succession. One long squeeze, one short, two long, pause, one short, pause, three short. It took Sherlock only a second to realize that John was saying yes in morse code.

“Oh you brilliant man!” Sherlock kissed John’s hand and turned to the doctor. “He’s ready.”

Matthews nodded and lowered John’s oxygen intake. “John, if it becomes difficult to breath, I need you to tell us. I know you’re anxious to get the tube out of your mouth, but only when your body is ready.” John rolled his eyes, causing Sherlock to laugh. Sherlock knew they were not out of the woods yet, but he found himself giddy with excitement.

After a short time it was determined that John could be taken off the ventilator and have it replaced with a simple oxygen tube. Before Matthews left the room John squeezed Sherlock’s hand in rapid succession again.

“Matthews, before you go. John is thirsty and is complaining of a headache.”

“How do you know that?” Matthews looked at Sherlock in wonder.

“Morse code.” Sherlock held up his hand and grinned at John. “Might have to find something other than ‘Idiot’ to call you, John.” Matthews nodded and left the room promising to be back shortly with some water.

The second they were alone Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and cupped John’s face with his free hand.

“John, there is so much I should say… I-” Sherlock fell silent when John placed a finger over his lips.

John opened his mouth and let out a frustrated noise as he tried to speak. “Sherlock…” it was more a rasp than anything, but it was music to Sherlock’s ears. Unable to contain himself any longer Sherlock bent down and pressed his lips against John’s cracked and bleeding lips. The kiss was short and would have been unsatisfying under normal circumstances but it made Sherlock’s heart soar. He pressed his face against John’s and soon found himself lying on the bed beside John.

“How?” John rasped again quickly growing frustrated at his inability to talk.

“Shhh.. don’t talk. You know I can read your innermost thoughts, John. How many times have I done it before back at Baker Street?” John smiled and looked down at their entwined hands positioned over his heart.

“How isn’t important right now. I promise all will be explained, but not now, not when you’re still weak. I will not put you at risk by upsetting you with my explanation, John. Please, don’t press the matter.”  In answer, John leaned his head against Sherlock’s and squeezed his hand.  “John, I feel like I owe you an apology. But no apology in the world will suffice. I-” Sherlock was cut off by a knock on the door and he looked up to see his brother and Matthews walking into the room. Sherlock sat back up on the bed, not wishing to embarrass John.

“Dr. Matthews told me the good news in the hall.” Mycroft placed a takeaway bag on the table and nodded curtly at John.

Matthews offered Sherlock a half paper cup half full of water and a small straw. “Only a little, John. Want to make sure it will stay down.”

John nodded and allowed Sherlock to help him sit up. Sherlock handed John the cup, but when he saw how shaky John was he held John’s hands in his and helped John hold it. He brought the straw to John’s lips and watched as John tried to get some suction started. After a few tries John managed and sighed in relief as he got a mouthful of cool water.

“Mycroft, as soon as John is strong enough, we’re taking him to your house.” Sherlock gave his brother a look that dared him to defy him.

“When he is strong enough, we’ll talk, Sherlock.”

When John had finished his water Matthews nodded with happy satisfaction. He set about checking John’s reflexes, poking odd places and asking John if he could feel it. Sherlock inwardly was screaming at everyone to get out of the room, to leave them alone. Instead he stood there, holding John’s hand and tolerated the doctor.

“Well, John. I dare say that tomorrow I might make you get out of this bed. You’re blood pressure is still low, which concerns me, but now that you’re awake more can be done about that. I’m sure you’ll have no objections to getting that catheter out, as well.” Matthews turned to the brothers and gave them a smile, then looked back at John. “Do you feel up to trying some food?” John nodded with such force that the doctor laughed. “Right, I’ll have them send something up.”

When the doctor finally left Mycroft started to gather up his things. “It’s time I go home, Gregory will be anxious to know, and I have to tell Mrs. Hudson, and somehow keep her from visiting. Wish me luck.” Mycroft  shook John’s hand and gave his brother a hug before leaving them alone.

“Alone, finally.” John croaked.

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled. “you look like hell.”

“You don’t look much better.” John ran a finger over Sherlock’s jaw and smiled. “I like it.”

“It itches.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

“Sherlock, did you come back for me?”

“Yes, John. Mycroft called me when you took off. I demanded he allow me to come home.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Eight days.”

John sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. It… was stupid of me. I…”

“John Watson, if you apologize one more time I’m going to… Ok well normally I would poison you, but… that would defeat the purpose. What I’m trying to say, it shut up.”

John let out a strangled laugh and patted the bed next to him. “Com’er, I’m not quite sure I believe it’s actually you.”

Sherlock crawled back up onto the bed and nuzzled himself around John.

“That’s better. Don’t leave me again, Sherlock. Please.” John’s voice was merely a whisper, but it felt like Sherlock had just been slapped.

“I won't, I wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m tired…”

“Sleep, then John, I’ll hold you. I’ll keep you safe.”

John nuzzled his face into Sherlock’s shoulder and with a content sigh fell fast asleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet is still not working correctly, and I have a busy day tomorrow and Tuesday. Should have an update up by Wednesday.


	28. 11th September. 2012

Sherlock gently kissed John awake. “John, luv, can you wake up for me?” Sherlock found himself starting to panic just as John groaned and stirred in his arms. “That’s it, luv.” Sherlock pulled his arm out from under John’s head and kissed John’s forehead.

“You’re still here.” John winced when he talked, but couldn’t help smiling at Sherlock.

“I told you, I wouldn’t leave you.” Sherlock nodded his head towards the small meal one of the nurses had brought in shortly before he woke John. “Hungry?”

“Starved. Help me up?” Sherlock helped John sit up in the bed, arranging the blankets and pillows around him.

“What do you want first? Seems they’ve brought pudding, water, and oh look!” Sherlock wrinkled his nose and held up two cups. “Hospital tea. Detestable, if you ask me, but it’s still warm. I suppose that would feel good on your throat.” John nodded and Sherlock carefully handed him the tea, making sure he had a good grip on it before letting go.

“Ta.”

Sherlock sat in his chair, eating his cold fish fingers and custard, watching John pick at his pudding. His mixed emotions were pushing and pulling at his mind, he felt as if any moment he would be pushed off the cliffs of insanity. He knew that John was still weak, he could tell just by looking at him. He didn’t need to look at the monitors for that. But he needed to talk, he needed to lift the weight that was crushing his chest.

“You’re thin.” Sherlock blinked and shook his head. “No.. that’s not what I meant to say.”

“Well.. it’s true. I am. Taking care of myself wasn’t exactly a priority, Sherlock.”

“John, may I explain myself?” Sherlock watched John carefully. John took the spoon out of his mouth and placed it on the table. He placed his trembling hands on his lap and gave on short nod.

“Please, I ask one thing, John. Reserve all judgment for the end of my statement.”  John nodded and just as Sherlock was about to start talking he held up a shaking finger. Sherlock shut his mouth and waited.

“Come here.” John patted the bed. “I’d rather you in my arms. Don’t want you going cold and calculated on me.”

Sherlock placed his container of food to the side and slowly moved to the side of the bed. He tentatively placed a knee on the bed before curling up on John’s chest, being careful to avoid his IV and wires. John placed an arm around him and rested his chin on Sherlock’s head.

“We knew that the second I stepped foot on the roof there were only a few possible outcomes. Faking my death was mostly Mycroft’s idea. I wanted to tell you, but Mycroft said your grief would be the key factor in making my death all the more real.

Moriarty gave me no choice. He had trained assassins on the three people I cared about most. If I didn’t agree to his demands he would have you all killed. His men were given special instructions, if they didn’t hear from him by a certain time they were to follow through with them. The one thing I did not count on was Moriarty taking his own life. Leaving me mere minutes to save you. Mycroft and I had set up different plans, all of them having code names. I’m sure you saw on my phone the text I sent my brother. Lazarus was our only option. I needed to disappear, to disassemble Moriarty's network, ensuring your continued safety.

Yes, I could ask the three of you to go underground, to live your life in hiding until  safety could be achieved. I couldn’t ask that of you, nor could I promise that safety could be achieved. So, my ‘death’ it was.

Please know, John, I did not want to leave you.”

“Yes, you said, Mycroft… carry on.”  John kissed the top of Sherlock’s forehead, encouraging him to continue.

“I spent the next couple days at Mycroft’s house while the proper arrangements were made. Mycroft was through, he made sure any attempt of mine to contact you was interrupted. However, I did manage to slip out of the house once, the day of my funeral. I saw you, and Mrs. Hudson. I wanted to go to you, to comfort you.” Sherlock sighed and clung to John. “I’ve spent the past 9 months trying to disassemble his network.”

“Did you come back because you were finished?”

“No, Mycroft has made sure that no one knows I am here. The doctors taking care of you are on his payroll. Mrs. Hudson has been told that you are too weak for visitors. I came back for you, John. I… I do need to return to my work before long.”

John let out a shaky breath that caused Sherlock to lift his head and look at John. Sherlock gasped in shock when he saw the tears streaming down John’s face.

“John, my John, don’t cry.” Sherlock wiped his thumbs across John’s cheeks, brushing the tears away. “John, when you are well enough, I want you to come with me. I’m better with you. Please, John, think about it. Don’t give me your answer now.”

John placed a hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled Sherlock towards him. John kissed Sherlock full on the lips before pulling back in horror.

“What’s wrong, John? Was that not good?”

“When was the last time I brushed my teeth?” John ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced.

“Oh, John!” Sherlock bent forward and kissed John full on his lips.

“I’m serious, Sherlock, could you ask them to bring me a toothbrush. John pushed Sherlock away. “It’s not you, or that I don’t want to kiss you.”

Sherlock slipped out of John’s arms and pushed the table back over within John’s reach.  

“Eat, John. I’ll go see about a toothbrush. Maybe even a shower for you.”

“Oi! You saying I smell?” John flashed Sherlock a smile that melted his heart.

“Only slightly, my love.” Sherlock winked at John and stepped out into the hall. After procuring a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste and inquiring about a shower for John, Sherlock returned to the room.

As he entered the room he began talking. “John, I’ve got good news!” When John came into sight his heart dropped. John was in the same position he had left him in, but his head was leaning against the bed and his eyes were closed. Fearing that he had slipped back into a coma, or worse, Sherlock rushed to his side. “John?”

“Mmm?” John’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“My dear man, don’t do that to me!” Sherlock let out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, Sherlock,” John lifted his head and opened his eyes, “my head got heavy. Oh? Is that for me?” He eyed the toothbrush in Sherlock’s hands.

“Yes, also…” There was a knock on the door and Mandie walked in.

“Dr. Watson, Sherlock informed us you’d like a shower?”

“If possible.” John looked uncertainly at Sherlock.

“We’re a bit hesitant to leave you unattended.”

“What if Sherlock is with me?”

The nurse looked unsure for a moment but with a bit of persuading from John, and reassurance from Sherlock she finally agreed. She left the room, returning a few minutes later with the necessary items.

“Just one more thing, John, let’s remove your catheter.” John groaned but nodded. After a few uncomfortable minutes Sherlock was carefully leading to John to the showers.

“You know, proper clothes after this would be nice. If not a jumper, at least a shirt.” Sherlock sat John down on a chair just outside the shower and helped him remove the thin trousers the hospital had put on him.

“I’ll see to some clothes for you after, for now, lets just start with the shower.” Sherlock helped John step into the shower. “John?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you want me to join you? Or stay here?”

John leaned heavily against the wall of the shower and ran a hand through his hair.

“Join me, please. I’m not sure how long I can stand on my own.”

Sherlock quickly stripped and joined John in the shower. He turned the taps on and adjusted the water temperature until John was sighing in contentment.

“Not exactly how I envisioned being naked for the first time with you.” John leaned against the shower wall and offered Sherlock a smile.

“Sit on the floor, John. It’ll be easier for you.”

Sherlock helped John sit down and crouched behind him, and picked up the shampoo. “Tip your head up, John.” John did as he was asked and Sherlock gently massaged the shampoo into his hair. After John’s hair was rinsed clean he handed John the soap with a small grin.

“Thanks, Sherlock.” John took the soap and hummed in pleasure as he washed himself. They lingered in the shower for a while, Sherlock enjoying the closeness, and John enjoying his momentary freedom. In the solitude of the shower John looked up at Sherlock.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am. I was selfish, and stupid, and..”

“Hush, John.” Sherlock kissed John under the stream of water. “I am the one who should be sorry. If it hadn’t been for me, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Sherlock, let’s just stop apologizing. I love you.”

“I love you, John. Shall we get out now?”

“Can we stay? Just a few more minutes.” John rested his back against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John, resting his chin on John’s head.

“Of course. Tell me when you want to get out.” Sherlock kissed the back of John’s head and closed his eyes, daring to allow himself to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my Red Sox game I was supposed to attend tonight got rained out. (Gotta love New England, it was in the high 80's two days ago, and today it was 47 and down pouring. I LOVE the cool and the rain though, so it's totally okay with me.)
> 
> But because I didn't have the game, I was able to write. :)


	29. 15th September, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for how long this chapter has taken... I'm honestly not in love with this chapter. I love the idea, but now how I wrote it. I *MIGHT* re-write this. IF I do, I'll let everyone know by a "Fake" chapter or something. 
> 
> I've had such a busy week, and it isn't over yet. Also I've only gotten about 3-4 hours of sleep each night, so... I'm sorry.

 

Sherlock paced back and forth in the hall, phone pressed to his ear. His window of opportunity was before him. He guessed that he had no more than a week to make his move, to set his trap for Moran. But that meant leaving John. And he had promised John that he wouldn’t leave. Sherlock had received the news via text 10 minutes before. He hid his dilemma from John, and waited until the nurse entered the room, excusing himself for the loo.

_ Mycroft: You must not let him slip away from you, Sherlock. _

_ Sherlock: I know! But I made a promise to John. I can’t just leave him and expect him to be okay with that. Not after everything. _

_ Mycroft: You have a job to do, I told you caring was not an advantage. I warned you, Sherlock. _

_ Sherlock: I need to tell him. I need to be honest with John. _

_ Mycroft: Not wise, brother mine. _

Sherlock rang off and pocketed his phone. He slipped back into the room and waited quietly by John’s side until the nurse was finished. When they were alone he sat on the edge of the bed and took John’s hand in his.

“John. You’ve been so patient with me, you’ve accepted me back into your life without getting angry. John, you’ve been… amazing. I..”

“Sherlock, I know you well enough now to that something is wrong. So just… tell me.” John sighed and leaned his head back against the bed. He was exhausted from the day, from the tests and exercise that had been required of him. But never one to give up, he squeezed Sherlock’s hand and offered him a smile. “Just, tell me. We’re in this together, this time….”

“Together. Yes. I’ll admit, I enjoy the sound of that.” Sherlock set about explaining the delicate situation, how it was a “Now or never” situation.

“Will you be safe?” John pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Safe… ish.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

“Then go.”

“John?”

“Go, Sherlock. The sooner you take care of Moriarty’s network, the sooner we can get back to… whatever it is we have.”

“Whatever it is we have?” Sherlock looked at John with a bewildered expression upon his face.

“Us,” John brought Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “this… whatever it is.”

“But, John, I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Sherlock, I cannot go with you, and if you don’t go, if you don’t do this, then it is quite possible we,” John gestured at their entwined fingers, “won't get a chance. So, again, I say go.”

Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips against John’s. “John Watson, I find myself falling more and more in love with you.”

“So marry me. Before you go.”

“What?” Sherlock pulled back and blinked in shock, expecting to see a joking smile on John’s face. But what he saw was the face of a man who had never before been as serious as he was at this moment.

“Marry me, before you leave.”

“John…” Sherlock whispered, unable to say everything that was racing through his mind. He wanted to shout for joy, wanted to pick John up and twirl him around the room, he wanted to kiss the man before him, and above all else, he wanted to make love to the man who had just asked him to marry him.

“Sherlock, an answer would be nice.” John rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s hand.

“Yes, John. Of course. A thousand times yes.”

“Good lad, now kiss me. And not some weak little peck, Sherlock. Kiss me like you mean it. I might be in a hospital bed, but I’m not made out of glass. You wont break me. But.. uh.. First, can you help me with this?” John held up a finger and wiggled the pulse oximeter in the air.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock chuckled and kissed John’s forehead. Sherlock pressed a few buttons on one of the monitors then spun on his heels and took John’s face in both hands. He brushed his tongue against John’s bottom lip and was rewarded by a soft moan. John pulled Sherlock’s head towards him with more strength and Sherlock thought was in him. Their tongues danced desperately around each other, Sherlock’s hands held John’s face while John’s were massaging through Sherlock’s curls.  They lost themselves in the kiss. They only pulled away when the nurse Mandie cleared her throat and looked at them sheepishly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean too… Just…” She moved to the monitor, “was checking to see why we weren't getting John’s pulse.”

“Sorry…” John muttered into Sherlock’s cheek, holding Sherlock close as he tried to pull away. “I asked him to turn it off. Was trying to avoid… someone coming in. I promise, I’m not dying on you.”

“Just… turn it back on when you’re done. And please, gentlemen, no… sex.”

“Of course, now if you would leave, I am not done kissing this man.” Sherlock turned back to John and kissed his earlobe.

“Christ, Sherlock.” John’s hands clung to Sherlock’s back.

“John Watson, I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything.” Sherlock peppered John’s face with kisses. “When can I make you mine?”

“Now, Sherlock.” John breathed against Sherlock’s neck. “There’s got to be someone we can call.”

“I’ll have to call my brother. We can’t let anyone know. I am… dead.”

“Then tell only your brother. I want to keep this between us. Until…” John ran his hand down Sherlock’s back, “until I’m finally able to make sweet love to you.”

Sherlock shivered as John whispered into his ear. “A secret wedding, secret lovers, how very mysterious, John.”

“Well, you’ll just have to hurry home to me. I’ve got something for you to solve. Now let me hold you, I’m sorry I just.. don’t have the energy.”

Sherlock turned the monitor back on and crawled into John’s arms. “Let me call my brother. I’m anxious to make you my husband.”

“Mmmm, I like the sound of that.” John rested his chin on Sherlock’s head as Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sherlock placed the call on speakerphone and rested the phone on John’s chest.

_ Mycroft: Hello, little brother. _

_ Sherlock: John and I require your help. _

_ Mycroft: Oh? What with? _

_ Sherlock: John has agreed to let me pursue Moran, but on one condition. We need you to arrange for someone to marry us before I leave. _

_ Mycroft: I beg your pardon? _

_ Sherlock: You heard me. John and I wish to be married before I leave. And as talking to whoever is on hospital staff would require… _

_ Mycroft: Yes, Sherlock, I get the point. You are supposed to be dead. I’ll see to the arrangements. I will contact you shortly with the details. _

_ Sherlock: Thank you, Mycroft. _

_ “Sherlock?” John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. _

“Mmm?”

“I’m not doing that… hyphenating my name bullshit.”

“No, of course not, John. I would never ask you to change your name. Captain John Holmes doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? No… I think William Sherlock Scott Watson will do. That is, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Sherlock. Wait,” John pulled his head back to look at Sherlock. “William? Really?”

“Yes, how… ordinary. Why do you think I insisted upon being called Sherlock.”

“William Sherlock Scott… Watson. You’d do that for me?”

“John,” It was Sherlock’s turn to pull back and look John full in the eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

“How much longer do you think I’ll be in here?”  John sighed and let his head fall back to the bed with a small amount of force.

“My love, you’re still weak. You could hardly handle walking around today. Your heart nearly gave out on me again. I fear you’re in for a much longer stay than you’d like.”

John sighed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “When you’re done, when you’re back for good. We’ll have a proper party. Invite everyone.”

“People? Really, John?”

“Yes, people, don’t be silly.”

“Will it make you happy?”

“Very happy.”

“Fine… we’ll have a party. But I’m getting you a custom made suit.”

“If it will make you happy, Sherlock.”

“You make me happy.”

“Sherlock, thank you.”

“What for, John?”

“For coming back, for staying with me, for… your love.” John uttered a small laugh, “God, how cheesey does that sound? But really. I mean it.”

“I wanted to come back so many times, I almost made contact on a few occasions.”

“I know, darling. Sherlock, when you leave… call me? E-mail, text, smoke signals. Anything. Just, don’t leave me in the dark.”

“John, you know that I can’t make any promises about the frequency of our contact. However, I will contact you as often as I am able. “

John nuzzled into Sherlock’s warm body and closed his eyes. “I need a nap. Wake me if Mycroft calls?”

“Of course, John. Sleep well, I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”

Sherlock listened as John’s breathing slowed as he fell asleep. Once he was certain John was fully asleep he pulled himself out of John’s arms, arranged the blankets around him and moved to the chair beside his bed. He picked up his tablet and set to work making arrangements for his upcoming task. He was just finishing up an e-mail when his phone buzzed on the table beside John. Reaching for it he slid his finger across the screen and stepped into the hall.

_ Sherlock: You have news? _

_ Mycroft: Sherlock…   _

_ Mycroft paused and Sherlock took the opportunity to cut his brother off. _

_ Sherlock: Mycroft, if you’re about to ask me if I am sure about this, then my answer is yes. I have never wanted anything more than I want this. _

_ Mycroft sighed. _

_ Mycroft: I was just making sure. Then this is what I can do for you. Obviously we cannot make it public knowledge that you are alive, and marriage records.. well, they are not private. So, I can perform the… ceremony…  Gregory can bear witness, and I will keep the file under lock and key. _

_ Sherlock: Will it be legal? _

_ Mycroft: In a manner of speaking, yes. _

_ Sherlock: I’m taking his name. _

_ Mycroft: Watson? Very well. Shall I inform Mummy? I’m sure her and father would appreciate knowing, even if they can’t be there. _

_ Sherlock: Yes. John said we’ll have a party, when I’m back. When I’m able to… live freely again. _

_ Mycroft: Very well. Gregory and I can be there in three hours. _

_ Sherlock: So long? _

_ Mycroft: I’m afraid so, he’s out on a case, and I have some fancy footwork ahead of me to accomplish this for you. _

_ Sherlock: Myc? May I ask one more favor? _

_ Mycroft: Rings? _

_ Sherlock: Well, yes, but that wasn’t it. Could you bring some food from Angelo’s? John has been refusing the food brought to him, he’s lost a few more  pounds and nearly passed out while walking around the hall. As for rings, I’ll text you a picture of some. _

_Mycroft: Angelo’s? Call in an order, I’ll pick it up on my way to the hospital._

Sherlock decided to take the opportunity to use the loo while John slept. As he was washing his hands he heard hurried feet along the hall and his heart sunk. He pushed his way out of the bathroom and ran to John’s room, bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor. As he got closer to John’s room he could hear shouting. He pushed his way in and found John standing beside his bed, tangled in wires and his IV, fighting off two nurses. He could hear one of the nurses calling for a sedative when his eyes met John’s. John immediately calmed and collapsed on the bed, weeping.

“I… thought you had left. Had a nightmare, thought maybe I had dreamt all this. Woke up… you were gone.” John was shaking violently, and the nurses looked at Sherlock questioningly, wondering if they should still sedate him.

“You may leave, I’ll call if we require anything.” Sherlock walked to John’s side and helped a nurse detangle his wires and settle him back in bed. “I just stepped out to take a phone call from Mycroft, didn’t want to wake you, then I had to use the loo. I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.” He sat on the bed and placed a hand on John’s chest, hoping that contact would help calm him.

John sat up and grabbed at Sherlock’s shirt with both hands while resting his forehead on Sherlock’s sternum.

“John? I’m not going anywhere yet, I promise. In fact, I need you to tell me what kind of ring you would like.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and smoothed his hair.

“Rings?” John stopped sniffling and looked at Sherlock.

“You don’t think I’m going to marry you and not give you a ring.”

“But.. people will see it.”

“Wear it around your neck, and when I come back, I’ll place it on your finger as I finally lay you down in my bed.” Sherlock placed a finger under John’s chin and forced John to look at him. “I’ll do the same, and you can place it on my finger as we lie in bed together.”

Sherlock rested his head on John's chest and listened as his heart calmed. He noticed in horror that a slight wheezing presented itself with each one of John's shaky breaths. He distracted himself by picking up his tablet. Arranging himself on the bed so he was on his back, and John on his chest, he propped the tablet up so they could both see the screen.

They browsed for rings, and in the end settled on simple gold bands after John suggested they get them engraved. Each ring would be engraved with the other's name, their "I do's" and the date along the inside of the band. Sherlock forwarded the information to his brother and placed an arm around John.

“John,” Sherlock took a breath and held John just a hair tighter while swallowing the lump in his throat. “I need to leave tonight, I’ve made arrangements to slip out around 2. A.M.” John sighed but said nothing. “Promise me, that you’ll take care of yourself while I’m away. I need you to eat when told, sleep when told, and to do whatever else is asked of you.” Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head.

“Not even married yet, and you’re already bossing me about?”

“John, you’ve been doing as I’ve said since we met.” Sherlock let out a small laugh. “Now, I can at least tell you to shut up and listen to your husband.” Sherlock sighed and became serious once again. “I want you out of the hospital and home. I also want daily updates from you. Thorough, updates, John.”

John nodded against Sherlock's chest. “And I, Sherlock, need to you to be safe. I need you to come back to me. I can’t handle losing you again.”

“John, I will be as safe as I can. I promise. I have enlisted as much help as I was able. As much as it is in my power, I will come back to you.”

“When I’m strong enough, Sherlock, we’ll go together? Consulting Husbands?”

“Consulting… Husbands? Mmm” Sherlock hummed in approval.

“So, you said that Mycroft called? While I was asleep?”

“Oh! Yes!” Sherlock patted John’s back in excitement and looked at his watch. “He should be here in just over two hours. He and Lestrade. John, I need to go talk to one of the nurses.” Sherlock nudged John trying to sit up.

“Everything alright?” John sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

“Mmm? Oh, yes, yes.” Sherlock waved his hands dismissively. “Do you want me to get you anything? Water, tea… food?”

“No, I’m fine.” John settled down onto the bed and closed his eyes, feigning tiredness. Sherlock spun on his heels and rolled his eyes. Outside, at the nurses station, Sherlock asked to speak with Mandie. After a few minutes she arrived and Sherlock started talking in low tons.

“He’s wheezing again, mainly in his left lung. As I’m sure you are aware, I’m leaving tonight, with no return date in sight, if he comes down with pneumonia, you are to alert my brother immediately.  He will know how to contact me. Now, once I leave, John will become a flight risk, watch him, but don’t let him know that you are watching him. Mycroft will have men posted outside the hospital.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Your brother has already briefed us.”

“Good. Thank you.”

With that Sherlock turned back to John’s room and, with a smiled, walked back to his soon to be husband.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fluff while you can
> 
> *Evil laughter*


	30. 15th September, 2012  Continued.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff. 
> 
> Calm before the storm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah... Um..
> 
> Smut warning.

Sherlock was in the middle of telling John a story that had him in stitches when Mycroft and Greg walked in. Sherlock look at John in concern as his laughter turned into coughing, but said nothing, instead offered John a glass of water. Both men looked at their visitors with mixed feelings. They were elated, knowing that soon they would be bound together as husbands. But neither men could ignore the feeling of dread that settled over them as Mycroft placed a large bag down on the floor, undoubtedly containing the items Sherlock would require for his trip. Mycroft cleared his throat and held up a small black plastic bag. Sherlock spirited from the bed and peered in the bag with eager eyes. Inside was a bundle of paperwork, two velvet boxes, and two mobile phones.

“The phones are encrypted, and are to be used only to contact each other. I suggest you make quick work of the paperwork, as we don’t have a lot of time to get the rings engraved.”

As Mycroft talked, Sherlock opened one of the two velvet boxes and grinned at the shimmering gold band sitting on a sea of midnight blue satin, a long silver chain was looped through the ring. He handed one of the boxes to John and pulled out the paperwork.

“I’ve taken the liberty of filling out what I could, all that is required is your signatures.”

“Thank you, Brother.” Sherlock browsed through the bundle of papers before placing them on the table. He then turned to John and offered him his hand. John held up his finger, bent over coughing, and then leaned back thoroughly exhausted. Sherlock shot Mycroft a warning look and helped John out of bed and to the table. He noticed the slight shivers running down John’s spine. To cover up his concern, Sherlock placed a kiss on John’s forehead. He could feel the heat radiating off of John before his lips came in contact with skin. Sherlock placed a blanket around John’s shoulders and handed him a pen. He pulled up another chair and sat beside John, and together they began signing the paperwork that legally made them husbands. Sherlock had his arm around John’s waist and was pressing kisses to John’s neck as he signed his name for the last time. He took the pen from John and kissed his fingers.

“Ready?” Sherlock’s eyebrow raised questioningly, almost afraid of John’s answer.

“Oh God yes.”

Sherlock laughed out loud and pulled John onto his lap. “Mmm, that is by far the sexiest thing you’ve ever said. Now,” Sherlock turned to his brother, “I think it’s time.”

Mycroft nodded, “Have you given your vows any thought?”

Sherlock looked at John and grinned when he saw the look on John’s face.  “No, we have no need to promise ridiculous things to each other. We know where our hearts lie.”

“Then I will make this short, as time is of the essence. Gregory, come stand just here.” Mycroft gestured for Greg to step further into the room. “Now then, gentlemen, down to business. This will not be… elegant, but it will be legal. Should you wish to renew your… vows… when Sherlock is back, I promise you I will not be offended.” Mycroft moved forward and put a tape recorder on the table and hit record.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you take John Hamish Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Sherlock tightened his grip on John and looked  deep into his eyes. “Oh God yes.” John laughed out loud and rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. John’s laughter soon turned into coughing, and Sherlock shot his brother a worried look. Mycroft cleared his throat and tried to gather John’s attention again.

“John Hamish Watson, do you take Sherlock to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

John picked his head up off of Sherlock’s shoulder and cleared his throat. He licked his lips and smiled, “Oh… God, yes.”

“Then, if..” Mycroft looked at Gregory, “there are no objections… I now proclaim you…”

“Consulting Husbands.” John cut in.

“Yes, Dr. and Mr. Watson, Consulting Husbands. You may now… Oh… right, I see you already are…” Mycroft watched as Sherlock tenderly kissed his new husband. Sherlock’s hands were delicately holding John’s face, thumbs brushing John’s jaw. John had his arms draped over Sherlock’s shoulders as their lips locked together

Mycroft reached for the tape recorder, stopped the recording, and pocketed it. “Would you gentlemen like to try your rings on? Before I take them to be engraved?”

Lips still locked on John’s, Sherlock reached a hand out in the air. Mycroft placed both rings in Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock closed his long fingers around them and pulled away from John and brought his hand to his lips. He kissed John’s ring finger before slipping the ring on it. When he finally looked up at John, handing him the other ring, he was shocked to see tears streaming down John’s face.

“John? John, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John kissed Sherlock, “nothing is wrong.” He took Sherlock’s hand in his and slid the ring onto Sherlock’s fingers. “Nothing is wrong, my love.” John looked up at Mycroft while lacing his fingers with Sherlock’s. “Mycroft, if I could ask one more favor. Could we get a picture of our rings?” He nodded to their ring clad fingers.

“If I may?” Greg held up his phone. John smiled and nodded. “Place your hands on the table, guys.” They did as they were asked, and greg took a couple of pictures. “I also, got a few of… well, you guys kissing. Figured you might want them someday. Sherlock greedily snatched his phone and scrolled through his pictures.

“Please have those sent to us.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we require your rings. We should be back…” Mycroft looked at his watch. “By… 8 P.M.”

“Thank you, brother.” Sherlock handed the rings to his brother, wrapped his arms around John and lifted them both off the chair in one swift motion. “Could you ask the nurses to… ignore the monitors for a short while. I will inform them if anything goes wrong.” Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes as he and Greg walked out of the room.

“Well… that wasn’t a no.” Sherlock carried John to the bed and knelt over him. “Now, husband… what shall I do with you?”

“Sherlock… We cant!” John eyes grew wide, both out of excitement and thrill.

“John Watson, when have you known me to listen to the rules?” Sherlock pressed some of his body weight onto John’s body, slowly rotating his hips. “I have only a few hours left with you.”

“You bastard…” John laughed, but jutted his hips up, pressing against Sherlock.

“That wasn’t a no either…” Sherlock’s voice was low, rumbling over John’s neck as he scraped his teeth over John’s stubble.

"Not here, Sherlock. Showers..." John gasped, running his hands down Sherlock's back.

"Brilliant idea." Sherlock sprang from the bed, unhooked John from his wires and offered his hand to John. "Come on, husband." Sherlock wrapped John's arm over his shoulder. "Lean on me, John. I know you're tired." John leaned gratefully on Sherlock as they walked out of the room.  As they walked past the nurses station Sherlock winked. "Just going to help John shower."

Once in the small bathroom Sherlock locked the door behind them and turned to his husband. He gently pushed John up against the wall. He ran his hands under the hem of John's T-shirt  and slowly pulled it up, teasingly slow, over his abdomen. John raised his arms and allowed Sherlock to remove his shirt. John pulled Sherlock's shirt off with a small amount of effort, and ran his hands down Sherlock’s chest.

"Oh.... John...." Sherlock growled, going back to biting John's neck. Sherlock looped his fingers under the elastic waistband of John's pajama pants and pushed down, allowing John place his hands on his shoulders to balance himself as he stepped out of them. Sherlock stepped out of the rest of his clothes and together they stepped into the shower. Sherlock turned the water on and pressed John against the shower wall, sucking at John’s neck. John’s raked his fingers down Sherlock’s back and let out a moan.

“Don’t tease, Sherlock.” John lowered his hands down Sherlock's’ body until he had two fistfulls of arse, pulling Sherlock tight up against him. He rutted his hips up against his husband and lost his breath with their erections rubbed together. Sherlock placed one hand on the shower wall above John’s head, and slipped his other hand between their bodies and wrapped his long fingers around both their erections. Both men let out a low groan. John put a hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled his mouth close. They devoured eachothers mouths and rutted together between Sherlock’s strong fingers. John soon began to make slight jerking movements.

“I’m so close, my love.” John grunted into Sherlock’s mouth, his tongue sliding along the inside of Sherlock’s teeth.Sherlock grunted his pleasure and quickened his movements.”Don’t hold back, John… Don’t hold out on me. I want to see the look of pleasure on your face.” Sherlock moved his lips so he was speaking directly into John’s ear. That was enough for the man, John let out an opened mouth gasp and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock pulled away and watched as pleasure and release washed over John’s face. Sherlock needed no further encouragement. He captured John’s mouth with his, felt his release growing in his belly. He let out a low growl as he spent himself against John.

“Sherlock Watson, you are one handsome man.” John gasped into Sherlock’s ear as both men trembled in the others arm.

“As are you, John Watson.” Sherlock tenderly washed John’s hair and body, washed himself and helped his tired husband back to his room. As they passed the nurses station, both men held their heads high and smiled at the snickers coming from the women. “They’re just jealous, John.” Sherlock whispered, opening the door to John’s room. Sherlock helped John settle into bed and curled up around him.

“I… don’t want to sleep the remaining hours I have with you, but I’m so tired, Sherlock.” John nuzzled his head against Sherlock's cheek and sighed.

“Sleep, John. if only for an hour. You’ve had a long day.”

“Only for an hour. No more, promise me.”

“I promise, John.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“John? Mycroft should be here soon.” Sherlock woke John exactly one hour later. “Do you want to sleep a little longer?”

“Hmm?” John sat up a little and rubbed his eyes. “No, I’ll sleep once you leave. What time is it?”

“Quarter to eight.”

“Did I miss dinner?”

“Dinner…. Oh! Mycroft… I asked him to bring Angelo’s and I forgot to place our order.” Sherlock picked up his phone and chanced a call to Angelo himself. He quickly explained the situation to Angelo, swearing his silence, and asked if food could be brought over. Hanging up he smiled at John. “Angelo offered to bring the food over personally. He understands what a sensitive situation this is.”

John pulled Sherlock back into his arms and held him close. “Any chance of getting your brother out of here quickly? I’d enjoy having the next 6 hours with you alone… Well, as alone as possible, with the nurses and all.” Sherlock nodded his head.

“Of course.”

A few minutes later Mycroft rapped on the door frame with handle of his umbrella. He stepped into the room and handed his brother the bag containing the rings. Sherlock sat up and together he and John inspected them.  John’s ring had _“William Sherlock Scott Watson 15/09/12”_ and the sound wave of his “Oh God yes.”  Sherlock’s ring, _“Dr. John Hamish Watson 15/09/12”_ And his sound wave. Both inscriptions looped around the inside of each ring, fitting perfectly, in an endless circle.

“Mycroft, these… are… perfect.” John breathed the words out as he slipped Sherlock’s ring on his long finger.

“I’m glad you like them, John.”

“We’ll wear them.. until I leave?” Sherlock slipped John’s ring on and kissed his hand before running his finger over John’s ring.  John nodded his consent.

“Well, I will leave you two alone. I’ll see you later, little brother.”

Sherlock nodded to his brother and turned to his husband. He kissed John’s ring clad finger and smiled. “Husbands… That alone will get me through the darkest days, John.”

“I just want you to come back to me. I know you can’t promise me, but…  Fuck…”

“I know, John.” Sherlock looked at his husband with love and concern. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Work fast, and be safe?”

“I will, and you, John Watson, get well. I expect you out of the hospital when I get back.”

“Knock knock?” The men looked up to see Angelo’s jolly face.

“Please, come in!” Sherlock sat up and motioned to the table, “Put it just there. Thank you.”

“Sherlock, it’s good to see you. We feared the worst you know.” Angelo placed the bag down on the table and shook both men's hands, smiling when he saw the rings. “Congratulations are in order, I see.”

“Yes well, I need to leave again, but not before John made me his.”

“Angelo, no one can know.” John pushed himself up off the bed with a groan.

“Oh, don’t you boys worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Angelo turned towards the door, but not before winking. “Oh, there’s a candle in the bag…”

John looked at Sherlock and both men burst into a fit of giggles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need your help guys!!!
> 
> I don't know how/what I should have Sherlock doing in the next chapters.
> 
> Suggestions are MORE than welcome!


	31. 16th September, 2012 1:50 A.M. & 1st October, 2012

16th September, 2012 1:50 A.M.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his husband with sad eyes. John’s grip on Sherlock’s forearms was near bruising strength but Sherlock made no complaints.

“John, repeat what I just said.”

“Trust no one, tell no one, and I quote ‘get the bloody hell out of hospital’ am I forgetting anything?”

“No.” Sherlock laughed and ran a finger along John’s jaw. “Especially remember to give me updates.”

“I will. Sherlock… If you can, keep your ring on you?” John slipped the silver chain around Sherlock’s neck, running his fingers along the chain as it fell against Sherlock’s chest.

“I will, husband.”

“You know, Sherlock…” John gave Sherlock an odd smile. “Sherlock Holmes doesn’t exist anymore. Sherlock looked at his husband questioningly. “Sherlock Watson… I’m quite pleased by that, I hope you know.”

Sherlock chuckled and nuzzled his nose against John’s neck. After a few long minutes he pulled away with a sigh and cupped John’s face in his.

“Be safe, and be well.”

“You too, husband.” John pulled Sherlock forward and smashed their lips together so hard it was almost painful.

Sherlock moved off the bed, trailed his hands down John’s legs and smiled. He straightened his suit, shrugged into his belstaff, shouldered his bag, and without another word stepped out of the room. He closed the door behind him, leaned against it and closed his eyes. He had almost gathered his wits about him when the door creaked open and John was standing behind him, one hand dragging his IV line beside him.

“Sherlock Watson… I love you.”

“John Watson, I love you too. Now go back to bed.”

“Yes, Husband.”  John turned to walk back to his bed when he heard a low growl and Sherlock’s strong arms spun him around. Sherlock bit down on John’s neck with such force that John let out a small cry.

“Something to remember me by.” Sherlock winked, turned up his collar, spun on his heels and walked down the hall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

1st October, 2012

 

John looked up as Zoe walked into the room. He smiled sadly and placed his book down on his lap, keeping his thumb on the page he had just been reading.

“How’s the cough? Do you need another breathing treatment?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” John cleared his throat and tried to steady his breathing. Only days after Sherlock left, Dr. Matthews had informed John that he had a mild case of pneumonia. He was told that it was nothing to worry about, and he should be up and feeling better in a few weeks.  John had done everything the Doctor had asked of him and he was now on the mend. Another few days and he was hopeful they would allow him to go home.

“Can I get you anything?” Zoe added another bag of medicine to John’s IV and looked at the man.

“N… Yes. Tea. Please?”

“Of course, I’ll have someone bring it up right away.”

As Zoe left John scrubbed his hands over his face, closed his book and pulled out his phone.

**Sherlock, I miss you. I haven’t heard from you in days, and I’m getting worried. Text me… call.. Something, anything, Please? -JW**

John stared at the screen for a few long minutes before closing the messaging app and opening his e-mail.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hu _sband,_

_Dr. Matthews gave my heart the all clear today. Said if my lungs clear up a little more I can go home in a day or two. I can’t wait to get out of here. The sooner I’m out of here, the closer I am to being with you._

_Mrs. Hudson came to visit today. It was hard not telling her about you, hard not to tell her we’re married. I long for the day when we can tell them._

While John was composing his e-mail tea had been brought to him, the nurse telling him that he should try to get some sleep after he finished it. John sipped on it slowly, grimacing at the taste, longing for a cup of real tea.

_I’ve been told to get some sleep, and my husband asked me to do as I was told. And after the day I’ve had, sleep sounds fantastic._

_Goodnight, Sherlock. I love you._

_-JW_

_P.s. You're right. The tea here is detestable._

 

* * *

 

John turned the lights off, powered the phone off and placed it under his pillow. He wrapped one set of fingers around the phone, while his other hand clutched at his ring around his neck. Settling down on the bed he closed his eyes and sighed. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock in days, the last thing he hard heard was a short message from his husband telling him to be careful, and not to trust any newcomers. John fell asleep with one single tear streaking down his face.

_“Hit the D-deck”_

_“Watson!”_

Sweat dripped off John, soaking his bed as he woke. There was a bright light shining into his  eyes, blinding him, his mouth was dry, his throat even more so. It was just like every other morning he had woken up in Afghanistan.

“John? John?”

There was a hand on his face, forcing his eyes open.

“Have I been shot?” John touched his fingers to his shoulder, pulling them away, surprised when they weren’t bloody.

“John, I need you to look at me.”

John blinked and raised his hand to block out the blinding light. Finally able to see again he noticed he was not in Afghanistan, but at hospital. Dr. Matthews was bent over him, penlight in hand. So that was the cause of the blinding light. John batted his hand away and rolled over with a grunt.

“What the hell?”

“I’m sorry, John. Your heart rate was through the roof.”

John groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Nightmare, sorry.”

“Nightmare? Is that normal?” Matthews looked at John with concern.

“Since coming home from Afghanistan, yes. Now.. if you don’t mind…” John pulled the pillow over his head to block out the ceiling light, “no more tests. Not now. I just.. need a day.”  John buried his head under the pillow, fingers still wrapped around his mobile.

“John, I do not advise this.” Matthews sat beside John and motioned for the nurse to leave the room. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be. But John, you’re doing so well. Don’t let depression take hold.”

“I promise, I’m not depressed. I just.. need a day. Half a day. My body is tired and sore."

John had undergone a battery of tests the day before, including a stress test to test his lung capacity. After months of not taking care of  himself, and a month in hospital, John’s body was not in the best condition. His legs still burned from the treadmill.

“I can give you until noon, John. Take a hot bath, there is a whirlpool down the hall. Mandie can show you the way.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Matthews stood and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. John powered on the mobile in his hands, intending to check the time. Blinking at the brightness of the screen, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw the little red notification badge, indicating he had a text. He tapped on the badge and let out a gasp when he saw a text from Sherlock.

**I’m sorry that I gave you cause for worry, John. I’ve been engaged. I am slightly worse for wear, but well and alive.  I miss you, but I am so thankful to be in contact with you, John. I have the remainder of the day free, call me when you wake up. -SW**

John wasted no time in calling his husband. Pillow still over his head he pressed the phone to his ear, tapping his fingers impatiently as it rang.

Sherlock was just settling into a hot bath when his mobile rang. He reached for the phone and pressed it to his ear and answered with a smile.

_Sherlock: Hello, Doctor Watson_

_John: Hello, Mr. Watson._

Sherlock’s good mood faded a little when he heard John’s voice. He could tell just from his husband’s tone. John was tired, and probably sore.

_John: How are you? How are you really?_

_Sherlock: Oh, you know… Bullet wound in the shoulder._

_John: What?!_

_Sherlock: It went clean through. I’m patched up and  healing._

_John:  Sherlock…_

_Sherlock: How are you, John?_

The concern in Sherlock’s voice was obvious. John let out a sigh before answering. Not wanting to worry his husband, but knowing full well that he wouldn’t take anything less than the truth.

_John: Tired. I won’t lie, Sherlock, I haven’t slept well the last few nights. Matthews woke me up from a nightmare, just a few minutes ago._

Nightmares… not good. Sherlock drummed his finger along the side of the tub. Maybe, once John was home, the nightmares would stop.

_Sherlock: How much longer until you can leave?_

_John: Another day or two. I asked for the day off today, Matthews agreed to half a day. I just needed a break._

_Sherlock: Are you alright? John?_

_John: Yes, I am… Sherlock? Where are you?_

_Sherlock: Not too far. Scotland, if you’d believe it._

_John: Scotland? I could come to you then, when I’m out._

_Sherlock: John, I need you strong before I take you on the run with me. I’m not saying no… Just.. not yet._

John sighed. Sherlock was right, of course. Their very first night together had John leaping over buildings, rushing up and down fire escapes, chasing after a taxi, leaving John laughing and out of breath. He had been in peak physical condition then, so how could be of any use to Sherlock like this. He would only be a hindrance.

_John: I know… I really do. So.. which shoulder?_

John rubbed his shoulder, remembering the blazing pain that had ripped through his body that fateful day. The bullet wound hadn’t been so bad, it was the infection that had nearly killed him.

_Sherlock: Left, if you’d believe it._

_Sherlock chuckled a little at the irony._

_John: No infection?_

_Sherlock: No infection, really, John. I will be okay. One of the men Mycroft sent with me has medical training, so I’m all patched up. Good as new._

_John: Sherlock… Be careful, don’t over do it._

_Sherlock: John! Please, when have you known me to over do it? I am always careful._

John actually snorted at that remark.

_John: Always careful? Says the man who just got himself shot! Sherlock I can think of at least three different occasions where I have had to save your life. Careful my arse._

_Sherlock: Oi! Are you making fun of me?_

_John: Never, Sherlock._

Both men giggled for a few moments. John let out a sigh and cleared his throat.

_Sherlock: You’re not coughing._

_John: Nope, doing much better._

_Sherlock: Good. That’s good._

There was a noise on Sherlock’s end of the call and Sherlock groaned.

_Sherlock: John, darling, I have to go. I’m sorry._

_John could hear water splashing as Sherlock got out of the bath._

_John: So soon? Is.. is that water?_

_Sherlock: Yes, I was taking a bath._

_John: Don’t you dare get your shoulder wet!_

_Sherlock: Yes, Doctor._

_John: Sherlock? Before you go._

_Sherlock: Mmm?_

_John: Where in the shoulder?_

_Sherlock: Just the muscle. Just missed bones._

_John: Good. Right, now take care. Please._

_Sherlock: You as well, John. Hey… Sherlock’s voice became deep and baritone.  I love you._

_John: Mmmm I love you too._

_Sherlock: Oh, and John. If I were you, I’d take up the doctors offer of the whirlpool. It’ll do you a world of good._

_John: How did… never mind, I forgot who I’m talking with here_.  

John chuckled and closed his eyes, imagining the smile on Sherlock’s face. He kept the phone pressed to his ear until the line beeped, indicating that Sherlock had hung up. He slowly got out of bed and gathered up a clean set of pajamas and his bag of toiletries. He slipped both of his mobiles into the small bag and pressed the call button on the side of his bed and waited until a nurse came in. It wasn’t Mandie, like he was expecting, but a young girl with a kind face.

“Hello, Mr. Watson. I’m sorry, Mandie is on a break.” She smiled at his confusion. “How can I help you?”

“Um.. Right. Matthews told me there was a bath I could use?”

“Oh, yes! Here…” She reached for his bundle of clothes, and offered to take his bag as well. John shook his head and held the bag with a tight grip. She gave him a bewildered look but shrugged it off after a second. “Well then, follow me.”

Sherlock’s warning to not trust any newcomers rang through John’s mind. He had half a mind not to follow, but his muscles ached and a bath sounded like a golden opportunity. He made up his mind to only follow her halfway down the hall before turning back. His heart was pounding, and he was on full alert as he was lead down a hall he had not yet traveled. After passing a few closed doors she stopped and smiled.

“Just here, will you need help finding your way back?”

“Erm… No. I’ll manage.” John wheeled his IV line into the room and placed the bag down just inside the door and took his bundle of clothes from the young nurse, still unwilling to trust her. “Ta.” John closed the door and locked it behind him. He eyed the large tub and grinned, it looked like heaven. He left the room an hour later feeling like a different man, he whistled to himself as he walked back to his room. His smile faded as he got close to his room. Something was wrong. He had left the door open, now it was shut. He reached for the phone that connected him with Sherlock, left it in the bag, and called his husband. He zipped his bag back up and taking a deep breath stepped into his room. There, sitting in the chair that had become his husband’s chair, was none other than Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this :)


	32. 2nd October, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it has taken me a bit between chapters. I've been rather busy, and my "Days off" have become..... busy as hell.

"Hello, Captain..." Max leaned back in his chair, a thin smile spread over his face.

"Max..." John kept his voice even and cool, hiding the anger that was boiling up inside him. He sat at the table, placing his bag on his lap. He was hopeful that Sherlock had been able to answer, and could now hear what was going on in his room, if not, he hopped Sherlock would be able to check his inbox soon. "Why are you here. How are you here? Last time I saw you, you were being loaded into the back of a patrol car."

"Posted bail." The tattooed man grinned.

"Again, I'll ask, why are you here?" John narrowed his eyes and shifted uneasily, beginning to regret his choice of seating. The call button on the side of his bed was just out of reach.

"Heard you tried to off yourself. Wanted to see how the Captain was doing." Max shrugged and picked at his fingernails.

"Oh yes..." John let out a sarcastic laugh. "I'm sure you just popped by for a nice chat."

"Oh, Captain, you and I have unfinished business." Max drew out the word 'captain' with a snarl.

"Max, listen. What happened... It was a mistake, nothing more. I wasn't myself. There is nothing," John lowered his voice to a growl, "and never shall be, anything between us."

"Oh? So you weren't moaning and panting on my lap?" Max's voice became cold, as if daring John to challenge him.

"I don't want any trouble, so how about you just leave before things get out of hand." John forced himself to get his tensing muscles under control. He stood, walked to the door and gripped the handle hard, holding it open in an attempt to get Max to leave. Max stood and sauntered out of the room, trailing a finger along John's chest as he walked past.

"This isn't over, John. I'll be seeing you again, soon."

John said nothing, but stood stock still until Max was out of sight. As soon as he was gone John moved back into his room and tore open his toiletry bag. The call with Sherlock was still connected so he pressed the phone to his ear while scrubbing a hand over his face.

** John: Sherlock? **

** Sherlock: Are you alright? **

Sherlock’s voice was full of anger and concern. He was helpless to be with John when John needed him most.

** John: No... Christ, not even close. Sherlock... How did he get in? **

Sherlock's voice became an angry growl, talking through gritted teeth.

** Sherlock: I don't know. You can rest assured, I will be talking to Mycroft. John? Is he... When Lestrade found you... **

John's heart sank. He and Sherlock hadn't talked about that night, he wasn't sure how much Sherlock knew. It was something John wished he could forget, something he wished had never happened.

** John: Yes... I'm sorry... I... **

** Sherlock: John, do not allow yourself to feel guilty. You thought me dead. That isn’t what is important right now. What is important, is how the hell he got in there. **

** John: When I took a bath… it was a new nurse, young girl. Didn’t give her name. Said Mandie was on break. **

** Sherlock: John, this doesn’t sit well with me. We need to get you out of there now. I can’t let you stay there any longer. **

** John: Right… but how? **

** Sherlock: John, are you in  your room? **

** John: Yes, why? **

** Sherlock: Lock the door, let no one in. I need to call my brother. **

** John was already at the door, locking it behind him. **

** John: Right, it’s locked. **

** Sherlock: Good. Oh, and John? That was some quick thinking… calling me. **

** John: Yeah, knew something was wrong as soon as my room came into view. I called you and threw the phone in my toiletry bag.  Hoped it would go undiscovered there. **

**Sherlock: Brilliant. Sit tight, I’ll call  you back.**

John turned to face his room, he had a few belongings scattered here and there. Instinct told him he should pack. If Sherlock wanted him out, then nothing could stop him from getting his way. Especially if it was a matter of safety. John picked his suitcase up off the floor and placed it on his bed. Mycroft had brought him some night clothes along with a pair of jeans and a jumper. He unfolded, and refolded the clothes, trying to calm his nerves.

He had just changed into normal clothes and finished packing when the phone on his bed started vibrating, Sherlock’s name illuminated on the screen. As John bent over the bed and picked the phone up, he thought how he really should change Sherlock’s contact information. It wouldn’t be good to have people see that name on his phone.

** John: Sherlock? **

** Sherlock: Mycroft is in a meeting, and Lestrade is on the other side of London on a case. Mycroft is sending a car, it will be at the front door in 30 minutes. Your discharge papers will be taken care of. Dr. Matthews will resume your care at the house. **

** John: Right, anything else? **

** Sherlock: No, John… Just… stay safe. **

** John: Sherlock? What should I change your name too. In my phone. I can’t very well be seen receiving calls from Sherlock Holmes’s ghost. **

** Sherlock: What was the last movie we watched together? **

** John: Ummm… night before you left, we watched all three Star Wars movies. I don’t see.. **

** Sherlock: Wedge Antilles. He was one of the rebel pilots, yes? **

** John: Sure? **

** Sherlock: I’ll be Wedge Antilles then. **

** John: Alright, Wedge. But you aren’t living this down. **

** Sherlock: Living what down? **

** John: That you remembered the name of a minor character, but not the name of one of the most iconic movies of all times. **

** Sherlock: I had to delete something… **

** John: Apparently. Now, Wedge, I’ve got to go see about busting out of here. Suddenly the thought of getting a lungful of fresh air has me rather excited. **

** Sherlock: Be careful, John. **

** John: You too. **

** Sherlock: Call me when you arrive at the house. **

** John: Will do. **

John hung up and immediately changed Sherlock’s contact information, letting a smile creep over his face as he typed ‘Wedge’. He checked his watch when he was done, he had 17 minutes before the car arrived. He was packed, so all that was left to do was wait for the discharge papers. He was just about to take a seat when there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” John was on full alert.

“John? It’s Dr. Matthews. I’ve got your papers.”

John stood and unlocked the door, only opening it a crack until he was sure the doctor was alone.

“Sorry, had a bit of a… scare.”

“Mycroft said. Honestly, I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. We still can’t find Mandie.”

“She’s missing?” This had gone from not good, to full on bad in a matter of seconds.

“No. We’re searching the hospital top to bottom as we speak.” Dr. Matthews handed John the papers along with a pen. “Just a few signatures, I’ll stay with you and walk you to the car. I’ll personally fill your medication and bring it to the house tonight. Mycroft doesn’t want to take any chances.” As he spoke Matthews had been removing the IV from John’s hand.

“You’re not coming with me, in the car?”

“No. It’ll take some time to fill all your prescriptions.”

John nodded and glanced at his watch.

“7 minutes.”

“Let’s head down then. Do you want to take your bags now? I can bring them with me later.” Matthews nodded towards John’s suitcase and small toiletry bag.

“No, I’ll take them.” John ran a hand over his chest, feeling the small bump under his shirt where the ring was sitting. “I’ll feel better if they’re with me.”

Doctor Matthews nodded and headed towards the door, holding it open for John. The men walked down the hall and paused at the lift. Matthews pressed the call button and together they waited, the doors opened and they stepped in. Once on ground level John quickened his pace, the prospect of fresh air excited him.

“Do you want me to follow you out?”

“No, I’ve got it from here. Thank you,” John held out his hand to the doctor, “for… everything. For not giving up on me. For not treating me like some… suicidal idiot.” John sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair.

“You’re very welcome, John.” The doctor shook John’s hand and clapped him on the back as they parted at the doors.

John stepped out into the mid morning sun and blinked. It was a chilly morning, but the sun felt glorious. He tipped his head back and let the sun play over his face, taking in a deep breath. Just as John got to the sidewalk, a sleek black car pulled up in front of him and his personal mobile buzzed.

_ Mycroft: Code word is “Blue”. Do not get in if driver doesn’t respond correctly. _

A young red haired man stepped out of the driver's seat and walked towards John. He dipped his head. “Blue, Sir.” John relaxed and let the man take his bags. As the man was loading his bags in the boot of the car, John slipped into the back seat while grinning up at the sun. Just as he closed the door behind him he felt the unmistakeable cold steel of the barrel of a gun being pressed into his temple. John reached for the door handle but heard the gun cock.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Captain. Told you we had some unfinished business.”

John turned towards Max and let out a dejected sigh.

“How’d you plan this? Is something this elaborate a bit over your head?”

“Can’t a man get some credit?” Max flashed John a wicked grin. “No? Fine. My employer took care of the details.”

“Your employer?” John felt his stomach turn over, like a pit of snakes had settled inside.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll meet him soon enough. In fact, we’re on our way to meet him now. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Sebastian Moran. The boss said you were once close to Sherlock Holmes, he’s keen to meet you.”

“The driver?” John motioned to the young man who had just slipped into the car.

“His pretty little Fiance was quite easy to get too, she’s proved to be the perfect motivator.” Max scooted closer to John and draped the arm holding the gun over John’s shoulder.

“Let’s get a move on it.” Max called to the driver. “Hand’s on the wheel, where I can see ‘em.”

John wasn’t much of the praying type, but at that moment he found himself praying that Mycroft would notice the car was traveling in the wrong direction.

  
  



	33. 2nd October, 2012 Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally had time to sit down and hash this out!! Honestly, I'm a bit proud of this chapter. Almost looks like I know what I'm doing.
> 
> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we please get some thumbs up for Witty John? Seriously... I had no intention of him doing any of this. I swear he took over my fingers.

With the barrel of a pistol pressed to his back urging him forward, John stepped into the house. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He had hopped that Mycroft would have noticed the car taking a different route by now. John was ushered into the basement and made to sit in a cell like room, he heard the door close shut with the undeniable click of a lock. They had taken John’s mobiles, and left his bags in the car. John flipped a switch in his brain and allowed himself to become Captain Watson, thinking of nothing but tactical advantage, and recalling his military training. First thing first, he needed to become familiar with his surroundings. Then he needed to find a pattern in his care, to keep an eye out for any weaknesses.

John looked around the small room, a single naked bulb lit the room, no lightswitch, and no windows. So, he was not in control of the light, and any chance of escape through a window could not be achieved, not  from this room at least. No toilet meant someone would have to attend to him at least once a day, more if he were lucky. He could check the window situation from there.The room had a single cot, and in the corner by the door was a camera. John took his time to properly flip off the camera with both hands before settling down on the cot.

He was here for a reason, so there was little chance of starving to death. He knew he was far too weak to even dream of overpowering anyone. Glancing at his watch he found it was just after noon. Right now his only hope was that Mycroft had noticed he had never arrived home. He didn’t know where the driver was, if he had been set free, or if he was in a cell next door. He fought the urge to shout, or call out, now was not the time to draw attention to himself. He needed to appear weaker than he was, and desperation would do nothing to help. Rescue was the best bet, and if anyone could rescue him, it would be the Holmes brothers.

Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, John paced, sat, curled up on the cot. He tried to appear as one who had given up, but he kept his mind sharp, keeping an eye out for any information that could be of use. At 4 P.M. footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. They stopped just outside his door, accompanied by the jangle of keys. The door swung open and Max stood on the other side.

“Boss wants to see you.” Max grinned while playing with his lip piercing.

“Any chance we’ll pass a loo on the way?” John stood and smoothed out his shirt.

“Boss said now, he doesn’t like to wait.” Max shifted on his feet.  

_“Afraid of the boss… duly noted..”_ John thought to himself. “Either you let me use the loo, or it will be a mite embarrassing for all of us in front of the boss. I had a busy morning, haven’t gone to the loo yet.”

“Fine, but make it quick.” Max nodded his head, motioning for John to step out of the cell. John did as he was bidded and followed Max. Without being obvious, he committed to memory every detail he could of the basement. There were three other doors, similar to his, one on his side of the long hall, two on the other. Max lead him up the stairs and pointed to a door.

“Loo, just in there… You have one minute before I come in.”

“And here I thought we were getting along…” John quipped as he slipped into the room, purposely not locking the door behind him. There was a small window, but one of those privacy windows high up on the wall. “Too small to fit though, but not too small for a signal…” With a small amount of effort John tore off a strip of the button up he had on under his jumper. He quickly relieved himself, and with the cover of the toilet flushing he opened the window a hair, and stuck the strip of fabric so it was hanging out the window, unseen from the inside. _“Now… as long as they don’t see it… Sherlock would see it, that’s for sure. Maybe Mycroft as well.”_ John washed his hands and took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Take me to your leader.” John plastered a thin smile onto his face. Seeing Moran face to face was not something he wanted, but if he refused, things would not go well for him.

John was surprised upon meeting Moran. He was similar to John in appearance, sandy hair, strong jaw, deep blue eyes,  but built thinner and taller, and much more muscular than he. He had on a tanktop, and a tattoo of the Union Jack wrapped around a celtic cross was visible on his right shoulder. He was draped over an armchair, half watching telly while smoking a cigar.

“Boss?” Max knocked on the door, voice wavering.

_“More than just scared… Noted._ ”

Moran righted himself in his chair and John felt as if his stare could see through to his very soul.

“Ahhh… John Watson….” Moran stood and walked around John like a giant cat stalking it’s prey. “Taller than in the pictures…”

“Sherlock made me appear short, Sir.” John stood at parade rest, arms clasped behind his back. Moran out ranked John, and it would be folly to challenge him.

“Hmmm… well trained. I be Sherlock liked that.” Moran sneered.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” John could see Max cowering in the corner of the room, taking in their encounter with wide eyes.

“Speaking of Sherlock… Where is he? And don’t tell me dead. I have it on good account that he’s alive and well. Heard he had something to do with breaking up my little group in Switzerland.” Moran stood inches from John’s face, surprising John by reaching through his shirt collar and pulling out the chain, tapping the ring with a long index finger.

“I don’t know where Sherlock is… Sir.” John hoped it was true, he hoped Sherlock was already on his way here, on his way to rescue him.

“This will be a lot easier on you, if you just tell me the truth.” Moran growled, letting the ring drop onto John’s chest. “Your D.I. friend ruined my plan. Max here,” the man cowering in the corner quickly straightened himself upon being mentioned, “was supposed to drug you… and I don’t mean… drugs. Then we were going to use you as bait to draw Sherlock out of hiding. But you had to go and ruin that. Mycroft kept you under such careful watch that we couldn’t get our hands on you. And then, the git, he got to you first at the cemetery. We knew that if Sherlock were alive, he would go to you, but again, you were under careful watch, that older Holmes is such a pest.” Moran’s face wrinkled in disgust when mentioning Mycroft. “So, I spread a rumor that I had surfaced… Needed to draw Sherlock out somehow.”

“And here we are…” John said bitterly.

“Yes! Here we are. Brilliant, if I say so myself.”

“I bet Moriarty would be so proud.” John was having a hard time controlling his temper.

“You have no idea. You have one last chance, John. I’m going to ask you…” With each word, Moran got closer and closer to John’s face until their noses were practically touching. “Where. Is. Sherlock?”

“I told you, I don’t know. Sherlock doesn’t tell me where he is. That way, if something like this happens, I can say that I honestly don’t know.”

“Max, check his mobiles.” Moran tossed both phones to Max. Not for the first time that day, John was thankful that he was in the habit of deleted his texts and e-mails with Sherlock.  “Have a seat, John.” Moran gestured to a chair next to the one he had been occupying minutes ago. John thought better of arguing with Moran and took a seat. Max picked up a bell that sat on the table between the two chairs and with a flick of his wrists gave it a ring. A young woman entered the room through the same door John had been ushered through and bowed her head.

“Tea, for me and my guest. Maybe some nibbles?” John watched with raised eyebrows as Moran waved his wrist and the girl disappeared without a sound.

“Well, Boss… No Sherlock in his contacts. His last call was to some bloke named Wedge Antilles. Seems to have been corresponding with him quite a bit.” Max tossed back the mobiles and continued slouching against the wall, picking at his nails, tongue playing with this lip ring.

“Who’s Wedge?” Moran looked long and hard at John.

“My therapist.” John shrugged. “Old one wasn’t working for me… my limp came back. Mycroft suggested a new one.”

“Therapist? So you wouldn’t mind if we gave him a call.” The way Moran looked at  John gave him the feeling that the man was attempting to look into his soul.

“Suit yourself, _Boss_.”

Moran opened his mouth as if to say something, but he was interrupted when the young woman returned with a tray of tea and nibbles. She poured out three cups and served the men. John accepted his with a grateful nod. He had neither eaten nor had anything to drink since the night before. Moran flicked his wrist and she disappeared.

Moran pressed ‘Call’ and placed the call on speakerphone and held a finger up to his lips, indicating that John shouldn’t speak. The phone rang three times before the voice of a woman answered. John had to hide his smile, he knew that voice. It was none other than Molly Hooper. God bless Molly Hooper.

_ Woman: Hello, Wedge Antilles office. _

_ Moran: I’d like to speak with Mr. Antilles. _

_ Woman: I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Antilles has stepped out of the office for the evening. May I take a message? _

_ Moran: No, I’ll call back tomorrow. _

_ Woman: Thank you, Sir. Have a great night. _

Moran ended the call and glared at John. “Don’t think this is over.”

“Of course not.”

“Now, if you’re quite finished,” Moran nodded to John’s empty plate and cup. “I think it’s time Max brought you back to your room. Max took the hint and straightened himself. John stood and placed his dishes down on the table next to the bell.

“This has been lovely, honestly. I can’t thank you enough.” John gave Moran a sarcastic smile and without another glance at Moran walked out of the room. “Max, are you coming?”

“Uhhh…” Max scurried after John, only catching up with him when John was halfway down the stairs.

“Any chance I could get some blankets, maybe some real food and water, haven’t eaten today. Oh, and I’ll require the loo again in.. oh say an hour. Hot tea, makes you pee.” John winked at Max as he entered his room and sat on the cot.

“Uhhh… yeah. Dinner. I’ll go see to that.” Max closed the door and walked away scratching his head, as if he couldn’t figure out why John was behaving the way he was.

* * *

 

Max had just brought John from the bathrooms back to his room. Dinner was waiting on his cot. Showered and, quite honestly excited about the prospect of food John clapped Max on the back and offered him his thanks. It was a simple ham sandwich, but not hospital food, and John ate it with elation.

John finished his sandwich and placed the plate on the floor. He was sprawled out on his cot with his hands folded behind his head when Max returned for the plate. “Lights out, I’m afraid. Boss's orders.”

“So you do everything he says?”

“He’s the boss.” Max shrugged and turned to walk away.

“Max?” John propped himself up on an elbow. “Can I ask you something.”

“Ask away, can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough… Sid… you remember him? He didn’t OD, did he?”

“He was in the way… Boss needed him taken care of.” Max shrugged and twirled his two index fingers in the air. “All part of the greater plan. Nighty-Night, Captain.” Max closed the door and left John in near darkness. John settled in for the night, and was nearly asleep when the silence was broken by faint sobbing. John made his way to the door.

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The sobbing stopped and the emotional voice of a woman broke through the night.

“Hello?”

“I’m John. Are you alright, are you hurt? It’s okay, I’m a doctor.” He wasn’t sure how that would be reassuring, but.. old habits and such.

“I’m Rosanna. Have you seen Christian? And.. no, I'm not hurt. I don't think.”

“Christian… Who’s that?”

“My Finance.”

“He doesn’t work for some posh Government man, does he?”

“Yes!” The sobbing continued.

“I saw him earlier. He was alright. Look, crying isn’t going to help. Just get some sleep. I’m sure Moran is going to… _interrogate, wrong choice of words if I’m trying to calm her down…_ want to talk. I’ll try to ask about him.” John leaned his head against the door. Knowing he wasn’t in here alone made this more complicated. Sherlock wouldn’t care about anyone else, he would be focused solely on getting him out.

“Really?” The woman sobbed.

“Sure. Now go to sleep. We’ll need to rest, be as alert as possible. False hope, great job, Watson.” John moved back to his cot and drew the blanket up over himself, fingering the ring around his chest.

_ “Come on, Sherlock…. Any time would be nice.” _

Molly had answered. That meant either Sherlock was back in London, or Molly and gone to Sherlock. The former seemed most likely. Moran had been stupid enough to make a call with his phone. That meant Mycroft could trace the location, it wouldn’t be pinpoint accurate… but it would give them something to work on. Mycroft, of course, wouldn’t let Sherlock run in guns blazing. He would sit back and wait for the opportune moment. Which meant, John needed to be patient, and do so without giving anything away. He just hopped that Moran wasn’t as brilliant as Moriarty. If he had to guess, Moran had been the muscles, while Moriarty had been the brains.

_ "Not unlike Sherlock and I…" _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly sorry I haven't been able to update as often as I was in the start. Life has been 100% busy. On top of working two jobs, I've decided I'd best actually hang out with friends and have somewhat of a normal life outside of fangirling.... (I KNOW WHAT THE HECK AM I THINKING?)
> 
> I will keep posting chapters, there is no risk of me abandoning this., so don't worry. 
> 
> BUT, It might just end up being one or two chapters a week. I'm about to get into something in the story line that REALLY needs me to pay attention to detail and I don't want to screw it up, so I'd rather take time, than rush and suck.
> 
> IF I notice it'll be more than a full week between chapters, I will do the thing where I post a fake chapter, so you all get updated about it :)
> 
> -Tindo
> 
> ALSO... stay tuned. A friend and I have been secretly planning a fic that we'll start when this is over. 
> 
> Prepare for it to be awesome. (As long as you like smut, and baby Holmes children... and... all that jaz.)
> 
> OH.. speaking of smut. There will be smut off and on for the rest of this fic. If you don't like it.. PLEASE let me know, and I can try to accommodate people (Or just whip you into shape.)


	34. 3rd October, 2012

John woke up the next morning to a loud pounding on his door. He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was just pulling himself out of bed, casting a glance at the camera, when the door opened and Max stepped in.

"Wakey wakey!"

"I was just beginning to miss you."

"Me? Or the escort to the bathrooms?"

"Well... They do go hand in hand..."

Max tossed John a towel and leaned against the doorjam. "Here I was thinking we had something."

"Oooh... No-hoo no, nope." John stood and shook his head. "Sorry, Max. I'm off the market."

"Yeah... Boss said..." Max nodded to the ring that was hanging out of John's shirt. "He's gotta be something special, the ends you went to... Months back."

John felt a pang of guilt course through his heart as a flash of his time with Max flooded his vision.

“Listen, for what it’s worth, Ca.. er, John. I’m glad you’ve changed. Seeing you like that.” Max shook his head, tonguing his piercing. “Sherlock, he’s gotta be one special bloke.”

"Yeah, he is." In desperate need of a topic change, John held the towel up. "Either, we're going swimming, or I get to take a shower."

"Swimming? In October? Are you nutters?"

"Boss that rich and powerful, and he doesn't have an indoor pool? Where are his priorities? Right! Shower, then. That sounds brilliant. Shall we?”

Max pushed himself up off the doorjam and shuffled towards the stairs. John made note out of which room Rosanna was most likely in. He noted where he thought the sounds had come from, he’d have to find a way to get her out, and Christian, if he were still alive. Max lead him to the second floor, to a much larger bathroom than the one he used the day before.  As they entered John noted that this bathroom had a lock on the outside of the door.

“There’s a buzzer next to the door, ring it when you’re done. Oh, and don’t worry. There aren’t any cameras in here. But… we’ll hear if you try to escape.” Max gave John an odd look before retreating and locked the door behind him and retreating down the stairs.

John took his time looking around the room. It was large, with a long counter with two sinks taking up one whole wall, a large clawfoot tub sat in the far corner, a small table beside it, and a crystal clean toilet sat on the corner next to the door. John walked over to the tub and placed his towel down on the table. There was a clatter and something fell to his feet that made his heart soar. John bent down and retrieved his mobile, his mobile Mycroft had given him, from underneath the tub.

_“Can’t see you, but we’ll  hear if you try to escape. Sneaky bastard was telling me the room is bugged, but not watched.”_   John smiled to himself, plugged the drain and turned the taps on. He peeled off his clothes and stepped into the tub, holding the phone close to his chest. John made sure the phone was on silent and sank down low in the water. He opened his messages and with shaking fingers tapped out a text to Sherlock

** John: Wedge, it's me. Seems I have a friend here. **

A reply came in seconds.

** Wedge: Define… “Me.” **

** John: Jesus Christ. Your bloody husband. I don’t have much time. Room is bugged, but no camera. Don’t call. **

** Wedge: Are you hurt? **

** John: Only my pride. Have you been able to pinpoint my location? **

** Wedge: We have it down to a 5 mile radius. Did you see anything? **

** John: You know how tinted Mycroft’s windows are. I did go over a bridge, then we turned left. Sorry, that’s all the help I can offer. **

** Wedge: A bridge? What kind, how long, could you tell if it was a river/brook/stream? **

** John: Short. 30 - 45 seconds to cross. Maybe wood? I left a small scrap of my shirt outside a downstairs window. I don’t know if it has been, or will be, discovered. I”m being held in the basement. I’m the last door on the right. **

** Wedge: The driver? **

** John: Forced. His Fiance is here. His location is unknown. **

** John: Sherlock, it’s Moran. He knows you’re alive. **

** Wedge: I deduced as much. I was a fool for leaving you. Where are you, right now? **

** John: Bathroom. Max…. I know… snuck my mobile inside my towel. **

** Wedge: John. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. **

** John: Don’t be sodding sorry! Just get your arse over here and get me the fuck out. **

** Wedge: How long do you have? **

** John: Another… 15 minutes or so. Nice touch, with Molly. **

****Wedge: You liked that? Bit of genius, if you ask me.  
  
John: Brilliant, as always. But now isn't the time for me to stroke your ego.

** Wedge: As much as I would like to keep you talking, we need to be able to pinpoint your location… to narrow it down. John, delete this thread, call me and keep the line open. Mycroft is standing by to trace the call. **

** John: I love you, Sherlock. **

**Wedge: I know, John… I know… I love you too.**

**Wedge: Oh, this does NOT get Max off the hook. I’m going to murder that bastard.**

**John: Just get me out of here.**

**Wedge: Give me 24 hours.**

John deleted the text thread and called his husband. He pressed the mobile to his ear and breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock’s voice came through as a low, baritone whisper.

“John, I swear to god, I will find you. I love you. Now keep this call open until you leave. I promise, I’m not just wanting to listen to you bathe… Though, I can’t say I mind it.”  

John gave a small smile and placed the phone down on the table as he set about washing himself. He took his time, he washed his hair, took time to scrub his body clean. He even thought about having a wank before he remembered that it wasn’t just Sherlock listening in on the call. Stepping out of the tub he walked to the counter, still dripping wet, and leaned over the counter. He was pale, very pale. He had been trying to ignore the pounding in his head since he woke up, but standing was making him dizzy. According to his watch, 24 hours came and went since the last time he had been given medicine. He would kill just for an aspirin. And he no longer could deny the tightness in his chest. He walked over to his phone, wrapped the towel around his waist, and  ended the call and sent one last text.

** John: Bring my medicine. Headache, dizzy, tightness in my chest, might pass out. But don’t worry, I’m deleting all record of our conversations. **

True to his word, John deleted the call from his recent call list, deleted the last text he sent and placed the phone back down. He toweled himself dry, dressed and carefully wrapped his phone back in his, now damp, towel. After casting one more look  in the mirror John took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. It was a few minutes before the lock clicked and the door slid open to reveal Max’s face.

“Got everything?” Max looked around the room, running his tongue over his top lip.

“Yeah, here.” John handed him the towel. “Thanks, needed a bath.”

Max nodded and lead John down the stairs. As they were entering the basement John had to stop, sit on the stairs and catch his breath. “Max, I need medicine. My lungs…”

“Boss won't let anything from the outside in, and all we’ve got is basic pain killers.”

“Well, tell your boss, unless he wants a dead hostage on his hands, he’d better get a doctor in here.” John pushed himself up onto his shaking legs and continued down the stairs.

“How long.. until..” Max held up the towel, “you need them?” John understood what Max was asking, but refused to give any information up.

“Just.. get me medicine. Also, I need to lie down. Room is spinning. Food would be nice.”

John made it to his room and sank down on the bed, relieved to be on something solid as the room swam in front of him.

“Food, please. If you don’t mind. I haven’t eaten properly in days.”

“Sure thing.” Max locked John in his room and disappeared up stairs.

* * *

 

John spent the morning sleeping. He was awoken by a soft rap on the door and Max entered with his lunch. John didn’t even bother getting up, he knew he was feverish, he knew he’d been off his medication for too long.

“John, I’ve got pain killers… and the maid had an inhaler. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we ha…” Max stopped short when he saw John, lying on his sweat soaked blankets. “Fuck…” Max placed the plate on the floor, left and locked the door and returned a few minutes later with clean bedding. He dragged a chair into the room and helped moved John to the chair while he remade the bed. Once he was done he helped John back to bed and handed him a glass of water.John propped himself up against the wall and picked at his lunch.

“Listen, I didn’t sign up for murder, so don’t you dare die on me.”

“I have no intention. Just… feeling a bit peaked. Any chance for clean clothes?’

“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe… a shower or something? No offence, you kind of smell.”

“Well you try sweating your ass off for a few hours, and tell me if you come out smelling like roses. Pass me the aspirin. Now, I’m going to need two of these every four hours to keep the fever down. And...a bath, would be brilliant. If I’m allowed two in one day. As you said, I… stink.”

Max loomed in the door, watching John pick at his meal. When he was done he placed the plate on the floor and curled back up in bed, drawing his pillow up over his head, trying to block out the light.

“Could, you turn my light off? It’s killing my head right now.”

“John, I think you need a bath. Now.” Max walked towards John and roughly pulled him off the bed. He half dragged, half carried John to the second floor and stopped just before they got to the bathroom. “Now, listen close,” he hissed in John’s ear. “I called your husband, he and his brother have the place surrounded, they move in at midnight. But we have a slight problem.”

John leaned against the wall in the hall, just outside the bathroom and rolled his eyes.

“John, Moran knows that I’ve gone easy on you. I’ve been instructed to change that. I’m useing your bath… as a sort of distraction. So, bathe, and.. I’ll be back. I just can’t promise that you’ll like it when I get back.”

For the second time that day, John bathed, but despite the hot water he shivered in the tub. He wasn’t sure what to expect when Max returned, but he was sure it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Despite that knowledge, he was light hearted. Max _was_ a friend, and Sherlock was near. Maybe even within a mile. He was sick, and weak, but he could last another day, he knew that much.

Max returned twenty minutes later and had to help John out of the tub.  He dressed John in a clean pair of night clothes, gathered John’s dirty clothes, stuffed them under one arm and wrapped his other arm around John’s waist. He used their closeness to whisper discreetly into John’s ear.

“John… I have to drug you, Moran’s orders. He’s moving you tomorrow, and doesn’t want you to be awake for it. I need you to fight me, and act as if you’ve passed out from the drugs.”

“But.. Sherlock?”

“Leave it to me, John. Trust me or not… I’ve got this planned, though I still think your husband will have my head when all's said and done.”

“I _don’t_ trust you, Max. But if you get me out of here, I’ll see to it that Sherlock doesn’t murder you in your sleep.”

Max dropped John down roughly on his bed and tossed his bundle of clothes beside him. He turned around and picked up a wooden box that was sitting next to the door. He lifted the lid of the box, while running his tongue across his lips. He drew out a needle and glared at John. John’s reaction was genuine. His heart raced as panic set in. Not drugs. Not again. Not after everything he’d been through to get clean. Not after finding out that Sherlock was alive.

“Come on, Captain… It’ll help you sleep. Might even help that fever of yours.” Max leaned over John, back to the camera, and John could see the look of remorse in Max’s eyes as he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

After a few minutes of pleading, John felt the sting as the needle slipped into his vein, just over his elbow. As the drug burned through John’s body he slowly stopped fighting. He hated himself, but god, he missed this feeling. The drug worked his way through his bloodstream and was just clawing at his mind when Max leaned down.

“I’ll be back in two hours, and again every two hours after that.” He turned and left, locking John back in his cell. The rest of the day followed as promised. Every two hours Max would return with another dose. John was nearly thankful. It kept his mind from worrying, from being on guard, but he also hated it. He wasn’t alert. He would be of no use to Sherlock tonight. Aside from Max’s visits, he couldn’t keep track of time through the haze in his mind. He lost count after the first three visits, which at least put it after 6pm. So he had anywhere between 6 hours to wait. That is, if Sherlock was even coming tonight. He allowed himself to drift off to sleep, instead of letting doubts take over.

“John?” The room was shaking. No.. it was his bed. No, him, someone was shaking him. “John, I need you to help me here. You might be a skinny bastard, but I can’t carry you the whole way.”

John forced himself to sit up as he tried to focus on Max. “Mmm can’t… legs won't move…” Strong arms gripped John under his armpits and lifted him off the bed. He draped one of his arms over Max’s shoulders and allowed himself to be lead out the basement. With one last look over his shoulder, Max lead John out the front door. They made it halfway across the yard before they were spotted. A large spotlight snapped on with a crack of electricity and illuminated their figures on the grass. Max broke into a run, nearly dragging John with him. Shouting broke out, and they ran serpentine as bullets started whizzing past them.

Through his hazy view, John could just start to make out movement in the trees. They were still a few hundred feet from the treeline, and bullets were kicking up chunks of grass at their feet.

“Shr’lck!” John half shouted, half slurred. He was nearly out of strength, and Max was grunting and starting to slow down.

“Here, John!” The shout came from somewhere ahead and to the left.

“Can’t…” John stumbled and Max lost his grip on him as they both fell to the ground. Soon Sherlock’s scent engulfed him, his arms wrapped around John, lifting him and cradling him to his chest.

“I’ve got you, John.” Sherlock was running, John was safe. He buried his head against  Sherlock’s chest and felt himself slipping into darkness. The last thing he remembered before passing out, was Mycroft shouting at someone. “Leave him! He’s dead! He did his job, he got John out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter posted :-D Let me know what you all think. 
> 
> I should have another chapter up by the weekend. 
> 
> (^ Meaning, no need to tell me to keep writing ;) )


	35. 2nd & 3rd October (Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we see Sherlock, and his side of the story.

To say Sherlock was worried was an understatement. John should have called by now. There wasn’t a reason under the sun why it would take more than 30 minutes for him to arrive at Mycroft's house. It had now been 45 minutes. He couldn’t wait any longer, so he picked up his phone and called his brother.

_ Sherlock: Where the HELL is John? _

_ Mycroft: Now, do try to stay calm, Sherlock… But, I don’t know. _

_ Sherlock: Calm? How am I supposed to stay calm, when you don’t know. _

_ Mycroft: Get to the airstrip, a plane is being prepped now. _

_ Sherlock: You’d better be able to do more than a bloody plane, Mycroft. _

_ Mycroft: I cannot find your husband, and talk to you on the phone at the same time, Sherlock. Get to the plane. You’ll be here in just over an hour. _

Sherlock was just about to curse out his brother when the line clicked dead. Sherlock grabbed his bag and tore out of his room while donning his coat. He made it to the airstrip in record time, the plane was just warming up when he walked up the steps. The young man who offered to take his bag quickly shied away when he saw the murder in Sherlock’s eyes.

The second the plane touched down Sherlock was on his feet standing by the door. He opened the door himself and was in the sleek black car within seconds. He growled at the driver until they were tearing across London. He went from staring out the window, to tapping his fingers against the glass. He pulled out his mobile and tapped out a quick message.

** Molly, meet me at Mycroft’s. John is missing. **

The car pulled up Mycroft’s driveway, much too slowly, pulling up alongside Molly’s car. He was out of the car while it was still moving, and dashing up Mycroft’s steps before the car had even stopped.

Mycroft’s sitting room looked like a war zone. There were maps spread out on every surface, equipment, and people on phones, Mycroft in the center of it with a look of pure rage on his face. That one of his men, _his men_ , had managed this put Mycroft in a terrible mood. Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was sitting with a laptop on her lap, and gave her a thin smile. He walked over to his brother and hiss in his ear.

“May I talk with you, _in private_.”

Mycroft nodded and handed the folder he had been looking at to Anthea and lead Sherlock into the kitchen.

“Sherlock…”

“Shove it, I know, not your fault. Scotland, it was a setup, meant to draw me away.  They guessed that I was with John, but couldn’t prove it. But they knew if John was threatened, you would have him moved, drawing me out in the open.”

“Which is why you are going to stay here.”

“Like HELL I will.” Sherlock no longer bothered to restrain his rage.

“Sherlock… Please.” Mycroft sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.

“I have a plan, I had plenty of time to think on the plane.” Sherlock moved to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, took a long sip then turned back to Mycroft. “We hand Molly my phone. At some point, they’ll realize that ‘Wedge’... long story, is me. They’ll call me. I know John, he’ll tell them that Wedge is his therapist. So, we give my phone to Molly. Have her play the part of my receptionist. It might buy John a bit of time, and… While Molly is talking, we trace the call.”

“Well thought out, little brother.”

“My, tell me we’ll get him back..”

“Lockie… I can’t promise you anything. But we will make every attempt to rescue him. Now, let’s go back in there, and for god’s sake, Sherlock. Eat something.” Mycroft wrinkled his nose at Sherlock’s shrinking figure.

“When we find John, I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.”

“Deal.”

“Now find my husband.”

Mycroft, in a moment of brotherly weakness, placed a hand to the small of Sherlock’s back and lead him back into the sitting room. The brothers set to working together, poring over CCTV images, trying to track down the lost car. They had just spotted it, and lost it in a tunnel, when Sherlock’s phone buzzed. The room stilled and Sherlock looked expectantly at Molly.

“It’s John, well, John’s number. Shall I answer?”

“Yes, remember…” Sherlock stopped talking as Molly answered the call, leaving the mobile on the coffee table for all to hear, as one of Mycroft’s minions set to work tracing the call.

_ Molly: Hello, Wedge Antilles office. _

_Man: I’d like to speak with Mr. Antilles._

_Molly: I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Antilles has stepped out of the office for the evening. May I take a message?_

_Man: No, I’ll call back tomorrow._

_Molly: Thank you, Sir. Have a great night_

Mycroft’s man threw the headphones down and groaned.

“Sir, that wasn’t long enough. We’ve narrowed it down…”

“How much?” Sherlock snapped.

“Roughly a five mile radius. Seems small, but…” The man drew a circle on a map. “He could be anywhere in there…”

“Yes, thank you. I am aware.”

As the nature of the kidnaping became apparent, the rescue mission soon became a detailed plan of attack. Mycroft's sitting room, having become a makeshift headquarters, was alive with bustling activity. There were people barking orders into their phones, helicopters being ordered, guns acquired, and mass of manpower being called upon. Sherlock was hunched over his computer typing away furiously, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder when he looked up and caught Molly's gaze. Molly put down the stack of papers and maps she had been going over and moved to sit next to Sherlock on the sofa. She gently closed the lid of the laptop on Sherlock’s lap and placed a hand on his knee. Sherlock quickly finished his phone call and turned to Molly.

"Just... Hear me out for a moment. You've been working since you got here. That's nearly 13 hours of straight work, Sherlock." She glanced at her watch. "It's nearly midnight, go get some sleep. You're useless to us, and John, if you're not on your best game." Her voice was gentle, but firm.  
  
Sherlock sighed and ruffled his curls with his long fingers, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Molly was right, he was running on fumes.  
  
"Fine, two hours. And someone wakes me if anything changes."  
  
"Six, and don't argue, it won't work with me."  
  
Sherlock glared at Molly, but he knew full well that Molly would stand her ground.  
  
"Fine. Six.  But not a minute more." Sherlock stood and walked out of the room, pretending not to notice the nod of thanks Mycroft gave Molly.  
  
He walked up the stairs and into the room John had stayed in when he was here. It still had most of John's belongings. And his violin. Sherlock traced the curve of the instrument with his fingers, longing to pick it up and play. But he was supposed to be sleeping. He would play for John when he was home safe.  
  
Sherlock rummaged through the dresser and pulled on a pair of John's pajamas and allowed himself a small smile when the pajama pants stopped halfway down his calves. He crawled into bed and buried his head into John's pillow and inhaled John's musky scent.   
  
"I will find you, John. And I will murder anyone who gets in my way..."  
  
Sherlock fell into a fitful sleep, disturbed by dreams of chasing John around London, John always being two steps ahead of him.  
  
Sherlock woke with a start at quarter to six and looked out the window. The day promised to be a cold and damp one. He hurriedly gathered his clothes and walked down the hall to the bathroom. After taking a quick shower and dressing, he walked back down the the quiet, yet busy sitting room. Mycroft was no where to be seen, and neither was Molly.  A short young man with a crop of prematurely greying hair seemed to be in charge in Mycroft's absence , so Sherlock addressed him.   
  
"Any updates?"  
  
"Yes Mr. Holmes-."  
  
"It's Watson."  
  
"Er, right sir.. Mr. Watson. We've men on foot, masquerading as hunters, trekking throughout the circle in question. So far, no leads. The area is a bit marshy, lots of small brooks, so the going is slow."   
  
"Thank you. Is there coffee?"  
  
"In the kitchen, sir."

Sherlock settled himself down on the sofa with a cup of coffee and set about going over the new data collected during the night. There wasn’t much that was new, the ‘hunters’ found a few houses that had potential. Fact of it was, they needed more information. Their one hope, tracking the car, had been left in the dust when the car turned up abandoned in South London. Sherlock lost himself in his mind palace, there was something he was missing, but he couldn’t put his fingers on it. He was snapped back to reality by Molly’s hands on his shoulder.

“Sherlock!” Her voice was frantic. “Your phone!”

Sherlock snapped back to attention and glanced at his phone.

** John: Wedge, it's me. Seems I have a friend here. **

Could it really be John?

As John’s texts came through, he related all new information. People jotted down notes furiously. They were now looking for a house close to a presumably wooden bridge, and John had managed to leave them a visual.

Wedge: As much as I would like to keep you talking, we need to be able to pinpoint your location… to narrow it down. John, delete this thread, call me and keep the line open. Mycroft is standing by to trace the call.

** John: I love you, Sherlock. **

** Wedge: I know, John… I know… I love you too. **

** Wedge: Oh, this does NOT get Max off the hook. I’m going to murder that bastard. **

** John: Just get me out of here. **

** Wedge: Give me 24 hours. **

Sherlock answered John’s call and whispered into the phone “John, I swear to god, I will find you. I love you. Now keep this call open until you leave. I promise, I’m not just wanting to listen to you bathe… Though, I can’t say I mind it.”  Sherlock rolled his eyes when Mycroft, who had just entered the room, cleared his throat and sniffed disapprovingly. Sherlock resisted the urge to keep talking to John, and handed his phone over, allowing Mycroft's men to trace the call. After John ended the call he sent one final text that caused panic to creep into Sherlock’s mind.

** John: Bring my medicine. Headache, dizzy, tightness in my chest, might pass out. But don’t worry, I’m deleting all record of our conversations. **

He’d been a fool. He hadn’t even thought about John’s health. He was too busy focusing on finding him. He held the phone up to Mycroft and sank back on the sofa. Molly pulled Sherlock to her chest and kissed the top of his head.

“John’s strong, Sherlock. He’ll be alright.”

Sherlock allowed himself to be comforted by Molly for a short time before clearing his throat and standing. The men were still working on getting a fix on John’s location. Sherlock flew around the room, snatching up papers from the odd pair of hands, tearing maps out of their books, he grabbed some tape and began taping the papers to a wall. He was starting to put things together when someone gave a shout of triumph and the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. Mycroft took over and began barking orders while Anthea typed away on her phone.

It had been roughly 45 minutes since John’s last text. Sherlock assumed they would not hear from him again, so he thought nothing of it when his phone buzzed. The prematurely greying man tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and handed the phone to him.

_ Sherlock: Hello? _

_ Max: Mr. Watson? This is… _

_ Sherlock: Max...  on my husbands mobile, I see. Sherlock’s was seething mad. _

_ Max: Listen, I understand your hatred for me. You have every right. But now is not the time. I have very little time, and a lot to say. Your husband is being held by Moran. This… isn’t what I signed up for. Moran wants me to torture your husband to get him to talk. I’ve managed to talk him into a slower means of torture, starting off with a round of drugs. Sherlock, you don’t have much time. Midnight tonight, at the latest. Moran is not a patient man. I will get John outside for you at midnight. Meet me in the northern corner of the yard where the trees are the thickest. Believe me or not, but this is your only hope to get your husband. _

Before Sherlock had time to reply Max was gone. Sherlock turned around and looked at his brother.

“We have until midnight.”  Mycroft nodded and turned to face the room.

“You heard my brother! Let’s get a move on, everyone! Oh, and Sherlock? We’ve found John. Go eat.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

October 3rd 11:30 P.M.

 

Sherlock’s legs ached. He’d been crouching behind this bush for nearly an hour, watching the house. All lights were off save one on the second floor. Mycroft, and his men, were hiding likewise in the surrounding woods. They had the house surrounded, which offered very little comfort. Sherlock knew where John was, but he was just out of reach. So, Sherlock settled himself in for the wait. As midnight ticked closer Sherlock shifted on his feet, allowing life to come back to his legs, as he shifted he heard the slight click of the gun against his hip.

The front door of the house opened and Sherlock could make out two figures. One being heavily helped out of the building. John! He fought all instinct to run forward, to run to John. He forced himself to wait. The figures were now about halfway across the yard before everything went south.

There was a loud snap and a spotlight cut through the darkness of the night. It circled around the yard before landing directly on the fleeing men. The tattooed man started zigzagging across the yard, forcing John with him. With every step John’s footing was become more and more unstable. And then, the shooting started. Sherlock watched as the windows of the top floor suddenly became alive with gunfire. Grass was being kicked up all around the fleeing men’s feet.

“Shr’lck!” John half shouted, half slurred.

“Here, John!” Sherlock darted out from the shelter of the trees and ran to his husband. He was nearly to the men when Max gave a pained grunt and started to fall.

“Can’t…” John stumbled as Max lost his footing. Sherlock watched, as if in slow motion, as a bullet ripped through John’s left shoulder as the man fell to the ground. Sherlock was on him in an instant, bending over and scooping up his husband. At a quick glance, the bullet wound wasn’t life threatening, but he was losing a lot of blood.

“I’ve got you, John.” Sherlock took off running for the shelter of the trees as Mycroft’s men surged forward, making their attack. John buried his head against Sherlock's shoulder and went limp in his arms.  “Mycroft! Get max!”

One of Mycroft’s men stopped at the sprawled figure of Max. Mycroft, never stopping, shouted over his shoulder as he entered the house. “Leave him! He’s dead! He did his job, he got John out.”

 Sherlock focused fully on his husband. He knew Mycroft had things under control, and that Moran would not escape. After all, what use was it, having the British Government as an older brother, if you didn’t let him do his job once in a while. Adrenaline surged through Sherlock, helping him bear the weight of his injured husband as he ran the mile and a half to the helicopter. He noted to thank Mycroft for forcing him to eat before they left.  

As the helicopter came into sight Sherlock shouted for help. It had been risky, landing this close, but now he was thankful. Two men rushed out and helped him carry John the rest of the way. They strapped him to a stretcher and Sherlock looked to the medic they had on hand. They had assumed that John would be in bad condition, but a gunshot was not something they had planned on. John was just starting to come too when the medic looked around the chopper, and stopped when his eyes fell on Sherlock’s scarf.

“Give me your scarf! We need to stop the bleeding! Press here! Don’t worry about hurting him, he’ll thank you when he’s alive and well.” Sherlock wordlessly obeyed and pressed his scarf over the wound, biting back a sob when John’s face distorted with pain. His eyes flicked open and found Sherlock through the pain. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a kiss to John’s brow.

“I’m here, love. I’m here. We’re taking you back to London. You’re safe now. Go to sleep.”  John gave a short nod and reached for Sherlock’s free hand. Sherlock clasped his fingers around John’s as the stretched was locked in place on the Chopper floor. Soon they were in the air, headed straight for London, the Pilot already calling ahead to the Hospital.

The doors flew open and Sherlock, still pressing his scarf to John’s shoulder addressed the doctor in charge, smiling a little when he recognized the face of Dr. Matthews.

“Gunshot wound to the upper back. Exit wound in the chest. Pulse is 140 and weak. B.P.'s 60 over 30.”

Matthews nodded as he took over for Sherlock.

“Let's get him prepped for surgery. CBC with DIFF, Chem-20. Portable Chest X-RAYS. Cross and type for two units.” Matthews cast one last look at Sherlock before the double doors swung shut, leaving Sherlock standing alone in the hall. A nurse was at his side shortly, ushering him to a waiting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The medical mumbojumbo... totally stole it from Agents of Shield. Don't judge.
> 
> Also, Honestly, I didn't think I'd have a chapter out this soon. I couldn't sleep last night, and wrote a bit. I probably wont have another one ready until the weekend... I'm adopting a Chinchilla tomorrow, and I CANNOT WAIT TO MEET THE LITTLE GUY!!! His Name is Harley, which is funny, because one of my best friend's name is Harley.


	36. 5th October, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a crazy crazy crazy week. But I managed to squeak out a small chapter. I'm sorry that it took so long for such a short chapter, but like I said.. I've been busy. This week coming up is a week full of doubles, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to write again, I'm thinking I wont be able too until Wednesday. :) 
> 
> Thank you for your patients!

John’s eyes fluttered open, he blinked hard a few times, trying to see through the haze of medication. A wave of nausea swept over him so he tried to push himself up out of bed before he was sick all over himself. A sharp stab of pain tore through his shoulder, sending him careening back down onto the bed with a cry of pain. Sherlock, whom he hadn’t seen sleeping in the corner, woke with a start and was at John’s side in an instant. Sherlock wordlessly reached down and readjusted John’s oxygen line and ran a hand lovingly, if not a bit concerned, though John’s hair.

“Hello, luv.” Sherlock bent down and brushed a kiss to John’s forehead.

“Mmm… What…” John cleared his throat before continuing. “happened? Last thing,” John swallowed hard a few times, testing his rusty voice, “last thing I remember. Drugs… the feeling of hot poison pumping through my veins…  Christ! I… I used again. Sherlock, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“My John,” Sherlock dragged the chair over and sat next to the bed and took John’s hand in one of his. “You didn’t.”

“Then why do I remember?”

“John,” Sherlock kissed John’s hand tenderly and set about bringing John up to speed. “You’ve been in and out of surgery the past 24 hours, with one more scheduled in just about... “ Sherlock glanced at his watch, “two hours.”

“Another one?” John groaned and sat up a little.All he could think about was the infection that had ravaged his body the last time he had been shot. Trying to clear his mind he looked out the window and saw that it was dark out, a quick glance at the clock told him it was quarter to one in the morning.

“Yes. The last X-RAY showed a small bullet fragment inside your shoulder, they also plan on repairing some of the damage at the same time.”

“Fantastic. Let’s just throw an infection in there, for old time's sake.”

“Sarcasm?” Sherlock’s face was a mixture of confusion and worry.

“Yes, Sherlock, sarcasm. Very good.” John looked around the room and pointed to the trash bin in the corner. “Hand me that bin please?” Sherlock hesitated for a moment. “Now, please, if you don’t want me to sick up on you.” That caused Sherlock to spring into action, even helping move John into a sitting position. After a few horribly painful minutes of dry heaving, John fell back into the bed thoroughly spent. “So? Moran?”

Sherlock furrowed his brows and looked at John. His husband was clearly looking for a distraction from his current situation.

“Ahh… yes, Moran.” Sherlock settled into the chair while running his thumb over John’s hand and began his narrative. “As soon as we had been able to pinpoint your exact location Mycroft quickly put together a plan that was followed through with extreme care. Helicopters dropped us a mile and a half  from the house. We knew it was risky, but I insisted. It was a risk I was willing to take, not knowing the full extent of your condition. It was 9:30 when we landed, by 10:15 we were mostly in position. All that was left, was to wait.”  

John shifted in his bed and reached for a glass of water that was just out of his reach. Sherlock handed the glass to John and settled back in the chair.    
  
“The plan was painfully simple in the whole, we would simply out man Moran. We had the house surrounded, so there was no way of escape, we just needed you out before our attack.

“That’s where Max came in?”

“ Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “At midnight we watched as you and Max made your escape.  Max must have missjudged your dead weight, because it took him nearly 5 minutes to make it halfway across the yard.”  
  
“I was… heavily drugged. I don’t remember even leaving my cell.” Sherlock nodded and continued.

“By then, your presence had been missed and the search was on.”

“Not surprising, my room had a camera in it. I’m sure my escape was not something they wanted.”

“Max continued on, even once the spotlight found you both, but then they started shooting. I watched as he helped you to dodged bullets. I had to fight my every instinct that told me to run to you, to help you, to save you. It wasn’t until I saw you get shot and fall to the ground that I allowed myself to go to your assistance.

“Not that I remember much, if anything, but I don’t think I realized I had been shot.”  
  
“Very likely. There was enough heroin in your system to numb all your senses. Which I am extremely thankful for.” Sherlock brushed a kiss to John’s hand and continued. “I knew you were hurt, but I couldn’t afford to take the time to properly inspect the wound. I needed to get you to safety before Mycroft's men retaliated, so I gathered you in my arms and ran.”

“I remember… feeling warm. Feeling safe. I could smell you.” John gave a faint smile then pressed the glass of water to his lips, only allowing himself small sips.  

“We ran, John… I don’t think I’ve ever run faster in my life. You can thank Mycroft for forcing me to eat. We, when I say ‘we’...” Sherlock gave a sort of shrug that caused a small laugh to escape John’s lips. “ran all the way to the helicopter, only stopping long enough to load you into the helicopter. It wasn’t until then, that I was able to see the full extent of the wound, and how much blood you had lost. Judging by the amount of blood on my clothing, you had lost nearly a pint, and as we were no where near the hospital that was quite discerning.”

“A pint? You’re quite sure?” Sherlock nodded and John whistled under his breath. “Jesus… Well, then rest of my story is pretty self explanatory... “ John motioned to the room. “Your brother stayed behind?”

  
“Yes. Mycroft, believe it or not, lead the attack. He charged in, ‘guns blazing’, as you would say. I received a text nearly two  hours later, informing me that all had been taken care of and that Mycroft was on his way here. When he arrived, you were in surgery, he was tired and in need of medical attention himself.”

John sat up and looked around the room, half expecting to see Mycroft in a bed on the other side of the room.

“Oh, no, don’t worry.” Sherlock saw the look of alarm on John’s face. “He simply needed stitches. He got into a bit of a tiff with Moran. Despite his condition, he was able to assure me that Moran was dead, headshot, Mycroft’s own doing. No one had escaped, and Scotland Yard will have a few more residents thanks to our endeavor.

“And Max?” John looked so hopeful that Sherlock hated to break it to him.

“Dead…”

“Yeah, I… He helped.”

“I know, luv. He did well.”

“Why did he help?” John asked, his voice growing faint as he fought to stay awake.

“He said he never signed up for murder.” Sherlock moved from his chair and walked around to the right side of the bed. “Move over luv, and I’ll rest with you. We have some time.”

“Shouldn’t we let someone know I’ve woken up?” Despite his protest John did in fact move, allowing Sherlock enough room for his small frame. As Sherlock threaded his body around John’s he smiled and whispered into John’s neck.

“Allow me to be selfish, and keep you all to myself.Just this once. Next time you wake up from a coma, I’ll tell someone, you have my word.”   
  
“Fair enough.” John smiled, and despite everything he had gone through, and his impending surgery, found that he was happy. He fell asleep with his nose buried in Sherlock’s hair and a smile upon his face.

The night nurse Zoe woke Sherlock up at 3 A.M. and was surprised when John woke up with him.

“Is it time then?” John rubbed his face with his right hand and fought the urge to run and hide. He hated requiring surgery. As a surgeon, he knew all that could possibly go wrong, even all the risks that no one told you about before going under.

“Yes, John. I’m to bring you to the operating room.”

“Can Sherlock watch? I honestly don’t want to be alone right now.”

“He can come, and we may ask.” Zoe turned and went to prop the door open. Sherlock pressed his lips against John’s ears and whispered.

“I’ll text Mycroft, and they’ll all but allow me to perform the surgery myself.” This made John smile and somewhat lifted the sense of doom as Zoe wheeled him through the hospital halls. Sherlock, as they left the room, quickly donned a turban and a fake mustache that made him look utterly ridiculous. John almost asked him to stay in his room. They entered the operating room and Zoe excused herself to go talk with the head surgeon, coming back shortly to inform Sherlock that he could watch from an observation room. Sherlock nodded his thanks and turned to John.

“I’ll be right up there,” He pointed towards the wall of glass at top of the room. “I wont leave until you’re out.”

“Just… Do me a favor.”

“Anything, John.”

A playful smile curled across John’s lips. “Don’t jump.”

“And don’t you dare go into a coma on me.” Sherlock smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to John’s lips before one of the nurses ushered him to his spot in the observation room.

Sherlock sat as patiently as he was able. Watching Jonn being cut and clamped open was no easy task. Had it been anyone but his husband, he would have found it fascinating. Sherlock would never admit it, but when they finally closed John back up, he cried tears of relief. Sherlock went ahead of John back to the room, and John was still asleep when they wheeled him back in. Sherlock sat in his chair reading over Mycroft's latest report when John finally woke.

"No coma." John smiled, obviously proud of himself.

"No coma." Sherlock smiled back, put down the tablet and leaned towards John. "How are you feeling?"

"Yeah... A bit like I've been out through the blender." Sherlock nodded sympathetically. "Sherlock, I just want to go home. I'm so bloody fed up with hospitals. And don't even get me started on shit they call tea." John's face was so distorted by disgust that Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.

"We'll talk with Mycroft in the morning. But for now," Sherlock pointed to the clock, it was still early morning, "you need to rest."

John wagged a finger in Sherlock's face. "That's another thing, I'm so sick of being told to rest."

"Husband, shut up and sleep." Sherlock crossed his arms and raised himself higher in his chair. John replied by shoving two middle fingers into Sherlock's face.

"I'll go to sleep, but only because I'm tired, not because you told me too. Oh, and if anyone is to do the ordering about in this relationship, Sherlock, it will be me. Now shut up and let me get some sleep." John pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. Sherlock chuckled softly but said nothing. Instead he sat back in the chair and steepled his fingers under his chin as a smile crept over his face.


	37. 12th October, 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Erika T. for the tickling prompt!
> 
> And to Jennifer for all of her lovely smutty things the boys should say. I really hit a brick wall with this chapter. 
> 
> (Honestly, any and all suggestions would be great. I know the path I want to take this fic down, but its the fillers I'm running out of.)

 

It was another week before John was allowed to leave. Sherlock was anxious the day of the move and refused to let John out of his sight, even trying to follow him into the bathroom.

“Oi! You might not believe it, but I am a big boy. I can urinate myself.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped unceremoniously against the wall and waited for John to finish.

When the nurse came with the wheelchair for John, Sherlock threw a fit until she allowed Sherlock to push John to the entrance. Mycroft himself stepped out of the car and together the brothers loaded John’s belongings into the car. Sherlock fidgeted the whole way home, stilling for a few seconds at a time when John would shoot him threatening glances.

Once John was settled in his room Sherlock made it his job to make the second floor unwelcome to anyone other than John and himself. When Lestrade tried to fetch a jacket out his bedroom Sherlock had turned him around on the stairs and sent him back the way he came. “You have a perfectly fine jacket in the closet, use that one.”

“But Mycroft said…”

“Mycroft will shut up if he knows what’s good for him.”

Sherlock had hurried back to the bedroom he now shared with John and glared at his husband when he saw him standing by the window looking out at the browning grass.

“Why are you out of bed? I clearly remember putting you to bed! John?”

“Sherlock.” John turned and rolled his eyes at Sherlock. “I’ve been stuck inside a hospital… and worse… for over a month. My arm is in a sling, I’m not dying. What I am dying for is fresh air. Now I’m going for a walk, with or without you.

“A walk? Whatever for?” Sherlock looked at John with incredulity written all over his face.

“You try being cooped up, kidnapped, and then cooped up again.” John grabbed up his coat and struggled to put it on. After chasing the coat in circles around him a few times he huffed his frustration and gave Sherlock a look that said “Help me, but if you even breathe a word of this to anyone, I will kill you.”

Sherlock smirked and helped John into his coat. After John was bundled to Sherlock approval Sherlock put his own coat on. Sherlock took John’s good arm and lead him down the stairs. As they walked out into the cold air Sherlock flipped his color up and then looked at John. After a moment he seemed to reach some sort of agreement in his head and flipped John’s collar up as well. Walking arm in arm they picked their way through the maze of paths that made up Mycroft’s yard.

“I used to walk these…” John spoke softly, remembering the time he thought Sherlock was dead. As he remembered limping down these paths he smiled. “You came back. I haven’t needed my cane!” Sherlock side glanced John and smiled sadly.

“John… I am sorry.”

“Sherlock, that’s in the past, yeah? Let’s just... Move on, yeah?” John cleared his throat and glanced at Sherlock and was surprised to find a tear running down his cheek. He stopped walking and pressed Sherlock against a stone archway with his good arm.  “Hey…”

“John, I find myself experiencing emotions that are foreign to me. I have never before felt guilt for anything, let alone one of my decisions. Leaving you... “

“Sherlock, shut up.” John leaned hard against Sherlock and pushed himself up on his toes until their lips met. John’s good hand found its way into Sherlock’s curls and pulled his head towards him.

“John…” Sherlock mumbled into John’s lips, causing John to frown and pull away.

“Generally speaking, people don’t talk when they're being kissed. Now shut up and let me kiss you.” John pressed his lips against Sherlock’s and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth causing Sherlock to grab onto John as his knees went weak. “Oh, really?” John chuckled against Sherlock’s lips. “You do realize,”

“Yes.” Sherlock murmured.

“You do realize,” John tried again. “This is the first time we’ve been alone. Truly alone.”

“John, this is hardly the first time. We lived together for two years.”

“Sherlock! I mean as a married couple.”

“Oh.” Sherlock blinked a few times and looked at John blankly.

“And…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe we should cut the walk short?”

“Are you cold, John? Are you in pain?” Sherlock was on full alert, checking John over for any signs of distress.”

“No, you idiot. I want to take you back to the house and fuck you against Mycroft’s dining room table.”  John had to catch Sherlock when his knees gave out.

“John, I do believe…”

“Yesss..” John looked on with amusement.

“That…” Sherlock blinked and looked at John. “Yes.” Sherlock straightened himself and took John’s hand in his. “We should… head back then. Mycroft won't be able to stand being out long. I would hate for him to walk in on us….” Sherlock had the good graces to shut his mouth, but John’s mind was able to finish painting the picture and he gave an involuntary shudder. They entered the house through the back door and looked at eachother.

“Bedroom?” John asked, suddenly finding the idea of the dining room table unapealing.

“Bedroom.” Sherlock grinned and nodded. Sherlock tore up the stairs with a giggling John following at his heels. John shut the door behind him as he entered the bedroom and lost his breath when Sherlock pinned him against the door. Sherlock was careful of John’s injured shoulder as he held John secure against the door. He pressed his lips against John’s neck and growled happily at John’s moans. “John, we need lube.”

“Top... “ John nodded towards his wardrobe and moaned loudly against Sherlock’s kisses. “Top drawer.” Sherlock kissed John’s neck one more time before breaking away and moving towards the wardrobe. He opened the drawer and pulled out a half empty bottle of lube.

“Half empty, really John?” Sherlock frowned mischievously. “Do I want to ask why?”

“Probably not.” John snatched the bottle from Sherlock and tossed it on the bed and tried to take his jacket off. “Sherlock…” John leaned his head against the door with a frustrated sigh. Sherlock came to his rescue and was at his side in an instant. With nimble fingers Sherlock unzipped John’s coat and helped John out of it. He eyed the sling that kept John’s left arm still.

“Leave your shirt on? I don’t want to disturb your shoulder.” John nodded and Sherlock trailed a finger down the buttons of John’s shirt and looped a finger under John’s belt. With slow, precise movements, Sherlock unbuckled John’s belt. As he slid the belt out of the belt loops he looked up at John and winked. Keeping his eyes fixed on John’s he felt for the button on John’s jeans and released it, a few seconds later he undid the zipper and was gently tugging the jeans to the floor. John’s pants got the same treatment and Sherlock helped John keep his balance as he stepped out of them. Sherlock stepped back  and started to undo the buttons of his own shirt. As he was pulling his shirt off John gasped and closed the space between them with one big step.

“Sherlock…” John reached his hand up and gently touched Sherlock’s shoulder. “I… Somehow I forgot.”

“The last few days… have been... “ Sherlock shrugged.

John stared at Sherlock’s shoulder and then glanced down at his.

“Why am I in a sling and you aren't?” A look of horror suddenly crossed John’s face. “Sherlock! You carried me!”

“Relax, John. I had my shoulder looked at while you were in surgery. Please, John, don’t let this ruin the moment. I was quite enjoying where it was leading.” John shook his head and laughed.

“Look at us both.” John giggled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock finished undressing and wrapped his arm around John’s hip. He pulled John down on the bed, leaning over him.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of wearing a sling. After I’m done with you, we’re getting you one.”

“Could you please, John, stop talking and fuck me?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and pretended to be upset. John looked up at Sherlock.

“Sherlock… Pardon me for asking…” John cleared his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Yes, John. I want you…” Sherlock pressed a kiss to John forehead. “I want you to fuck me.” Sherlock reached to the side of their bodies and picked up the bottle of lube. He squeezed a small amount of lube onto his hand and reached between them. John’s eyes fluttered into the back of his head when Sherlock’s hand wrapped around his cockstand. After a few teasing tugs Sherlock let go and reached behind him. He sat back on his haunches and stuck a finger inside himself. John watched with greedy eyes as Sherlock pressed another finger inside him.

“Christ, I want you…” John wrapped his right hand around his cock and stroked himself while watching Sherlock.

“Mmm. How bad?” Sherlock ran his tongue over his lips and moaned as he added a third finger.

“Get over here…” John growled and pulled at Sherlock’s hip until Sherlock was directly over him. Sherlock settled on his knees and pressed against John’s cock.

“In your own time.” John ran a hand down Sherlock’s leg and looked up at the gorgeous creature over him. Sherlock pushed down until the tip of John’s cock was pressing into him. Beads of sweat were starting for form along Sherlock’s hairline. “That’s it, luv…” John stayed perfectly still as Sherlock slowly lowered himself down on John erection until he was resting on John’s thighs. After a short while Sherlock rolled his hips and gave a short gasp.

“You alright?” John placed a hand on Sherlock’s hip stilling him.

“Yes, John. More than alright.” Sherlock leaned forward on his good arm, he pulled nearly all the way off and then snapped his hips back down and let out a loud moan. John snapped his hips and met Sherlock’s thrusts. As Sherlock moved down, John snapped his hips up. John reached up with his hand and pulled Sherlock’s head down and sucked in his bottom lip. Holding Sherlock’s lip between his teeth he spoke softly between thrusts.

“You like that, don’t you? You’re a proper cock slut, aren’t you? Mmmm so fucking tight.” Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as John talked and his breathing came in short gasps.

“God yes!” Sherlock twitched and cried out as John’s cock slammed into his prostate, sending a wave a pleasure up his spine. “Right there, John!” Sherlock pulled at the bed sheets and rolled his hips.

“Right…” John snapped his hip up hard while gripping Sherlock’s hip. “here?” Sherlock let out a moan and his head rolled on his shoulders. A shaking hand went to his cock and he ran a thumb over the tip as John thrusted in again. Sherlock’s mouth was forced open by a strand of moaned curses.

“Fuck! Just… Fuck. John.. Mmmmm.” John had to chuckle as Sherlock moaned something that sounded suspiciously close to, “Had I known this would be so fucking good I would have joined a whore house, not a crack den as a teen.”

“I’m sorry.... What did you just say?” John fought back a smile and forced himself to still inside Sherlock, much to the detectives chagrin.

“John…” Sherlock whimpered and tried to roll his hips but was mainly unsuccessful due to John’s strong grip on his hips. “I said… I wish I had known this felt so good.”

“No.. you said… whore house.” John wished he could reach up with his left hand and make Sherlock look at him. “Look at me, Sherlock.” After a few seconds of trying to wiggle his hips Sherlock gave up and looked down at John.

“Mmm that’s better.” John playfully snapped his hips up. “Look at that… look at how you stretch over my cock. Do you really believe I want to think about you in some whore house getting used? No… Sherlock, this is mine. This moment… your first time. Is mine. Now come here and kiss me.” Sherlock melted against John’s words and leaned down and captured John’s mouth with his. John quickly found the same rhythm and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s back.

“Yours.” Sherlock muttered into John’s mouth. “All yours.”

“Mine.” John nodded in agreement. Sherlock began stroking his cock between their bodies and soon they were both panting and moaning their pleasures. John lightly dragged his hand over Sherlock’s skin and looked on in surprise as Sherlock twitched out from underneath his touch with a squeal.

“What the hell was that? Did.. did you cum?” John tried to look between their bodies but couldn’t see anything. He ran his hand across Sherlock’s side again and was met with the same twitch and squeal. “Are you bloody ticklish?” John laughed and felt positively gleeful at his newfound knowledge. “Oh, I’m so using this in the future.”

“Shut up and fuck me, John.” Sherlock growled seconds before nipping at John’s ear. John ran his hand lightly down Sherlock’s side again and laughed as Sherlock bit down harder on his ear. “I said… fuck me…”

“Maybe I just want to hear you beg for it.” John lazily thrust his hips up, enjoying the look of desire on Sherlock’s face.

“John. I want you…” Sherlock gasped as John brushed against his prostate. “to fuck me. Please, John. I’m so close.”

John worked his way between their bodies and wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s and squeezed.

“Then cum for me. Come one, all over my chest.” Sherlock moaned and rocked into John’s grip. John thrusted up into Sherlock a few times until he began to feel the familiar release. He quickened his pace and locked eyes with Sherlock as he felt the fingers of the orgasm take hold in his body.

“Now, Luv…Fuck!” Sherlock sank down on John’s cock and felt himself give into the pleasure as the warmth of John’s seed fill his insides. His release was powerful, as spurt after spurt felt onto John’s chest. Sherlock fell onto John’s chest, and felt his cum smear between their bodies. John ran a hand down Sherlock’s back and sank his fingers into Sherlock’s curls and massaged Sherlock’s head rewarding him with a pleased hum from a post orgasmic Sherlock.

“I love you John.” Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck and peppered kisses all over John’s neck.

“I love you too, Sherlock. Fancy a nap?”

“Mmmm” Sherlock slid off John and moved to his side. “Should we… clean up?”

“Later, just… enjoy this feeling.” John patted Sherlock’s back and sighed happily. “We’ll shower later.”


	38. 18th November, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut, and crack. Honestly this is my favorite chapter so far!!!!

 

“I don’t see why I need to wear this thing!” Sherlock threw the sling down on the bed and glared at John, trying to ignore the twinge of pain that the movement caused.

“Because, Sherlock! It takes three bloody months, at LEAST, for a bullet wound to heal. And you bloody carried me for a mile and a half! I saw the medical report, you pulled all your stitches which sets you back even further than me!”  John was now shouting and trying very hard not to punch his husband. Sherlock looked at John and sighed.

“Why are we shouting?”

“Because,” John sat on the edge of the bed and picked up Sherlock’s sling, holding it in his lap. “We’ve been cooped up in this house for a month. That’s not us, Sherlock.We don’t sit around well. For a week or so, yeah. But a month? Me, longer?”

“I need a case.”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Being dead is overrated.”

“We could have sex?” John shrugged and leaned back on the bed so he was staring at the ceiling.

Sherlock deposited himself on the bed and rested his head on John’s chest. John laced his right hand through Sherlock’s curls and sighed.

“I’m sorry I shouted.”

Sherlock sighed and nuzzled his head closer into John’s chest.

“I’m sorry that I’m so difficult. I’ll wear the blasted sling.  Even if it does get in the way during sex.”

“You’ll heal faster if you stop irritating it.” John reached up and pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head.

“Tedious.” Sherlock huffed his annoyance and waved his hand in the air, showing that he was sulking.

“That’s what you get for going into battle without backup.” John untangled his hand from Sherlock’s hair and gave his arse a playful pinch.

Sherlock made a noise that was a cross between a whine and a laugh before hiding his face in John’s jumper.

“Well, someone is a grump today.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, it’s hardly my fault, John.” Sherlock rolled onto his back and huffed. John placed his hand on Sherlock’s thigh, tracing patterns on the fabric of his trousers. Despite trying to remain grumpy, Sherlock let out a moan as John’s warm hand caressed his thigh.

“John…” Sherlock wiggled under John’s wandering hand.

“Mmm… yes?” John fought back a smile, pleased that Sherlock was enjoying his attention.

“Your hand…” Sherlock closed his eyes and bit his bottom as the warmth of John’s hand engulfed his soft prick.

“Want me to stop?” With that John gave his prick a gentle twist and then removed his hand.

“For God’s sake! Don’t stop!” Sherlock thrust his hips in the air and gave a satisfied grunt when John resumed his slow torture. John traced two fingers lazily across the length of his prick, Sherlock wiggled at the touch, demanding more.

John chuckled and expertly unbuckled Sherlock’s belt, undid his trousers and slipped his hand down Sherlock’s pants.

“Mmm-mmmm” Sherlock inhaled sharply and practically melted into the bed. John moved on the bed until he was able to whisper directly into Sherlock’s ear.

“No more complaining from you today, or I’ll bring you right to the brink and leave you high and dry.” He gave Sherlock’s semi hard prick a squeeze.

“Y-you wouldn’t….”

“Are you sure about that?” Sherlock looked over at John and sensed just how serious he was, so he gave a short nod. John smiled and gave him a kiss.

  
“That’s a good lad!.”

Sherlock hummed happily under John’s praise and pumped a little harder before suddenly stopping.

“Relax, luv.” John kissed Sherlock as he whined. “ I’m just getting lube.”

As John was reaching for the lube, Sherlock used that time to kick his trousers and pants off.

“Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you?” John purred as he wrapped his now slick hand back around Sherlock’s prick.

“More, John! Please!” Sherlock was completely unashamed as he bucked his hips into John’s fist.

“Alright, luv.” John chuckled and peppered Sherlock’s cheek with kisses. “Don’t hold back on me.”

“Never…” Sherlock let out a loud moan, “never do.”

“I know, darling.” John never got tired of watching Sherlock when he was like this. The power he had over the detective with just one hand was immense. With a few short strokes John was able to turn the world's smartest detective into a writhing ball of moaning, sweating, mess. Sherlock’s hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, his bottom lip had a permanent bite mark, his long fingers were digging into the bed, knuckles white.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Sherlock was too far gone to comment, all he was able to do was moan and snap his hips into John’s hand faster. John gave Sherlock everything he had. He moved to his knees between Sherlock’s legs and smiled down at his husband as he lost himself to the pleasure. Sherlock started nodding his head, knowing that meant he was close, John picked up his speed and murmured his encouragement.

“Right there?” Sherlock nodded. “Pull your shirt up, lemme see your chest. Mmm.” John fought the urge to suck one of Sherlock’s nipples into his mouth. “Come on, husband. Cum for me. Mmm that’s right.” Sherlock gave one more frantic nod before John leaned down and clamped his mouth around the tip of Sherlock’s prick. John swallowed as spurt after spurt of hot cum shot into his mouth. When Sherlock finally fell back into the bed, thoroughly spent, John sat up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled.

“I bloody love you.” John curled up on his right side and rested his head on a pillow next to Sherlock’s. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek and hummed happily at the salty aftertaste in his mouth. He watched as Sherlock came down from his high, as his breathing became normal, and as his muscles relaxed.

“John….” Sherlock rolled onto his side as much as his shoulder would let him. “It’s always you… Always.”

“Hmmm?”

“You are the only one, who is able to turn my brain off. When I first realized you considered me your friend, when you told me you loved me, and with every orgasm. God…. when you make me cum, my brain turns off. Off completely. John, do you know what that’s like?”

“Mmmm. I do, and it’s glorious.” John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s.

“I love you, John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

“Your turn?” Sherlock looked at John questioningly and gave him a strange look when John laughed.

“Honestly, I’m hungry.” John gave him a sheepish grin.

“Really, John? Food, right now?” A smile slowly crept over Sherlock’s face. “Good. Because I didn’t want you to laugh at me if I suggested food.” Sherlock scrambled to put his clothes on and soon they were giggling and fighting each other, each trying to get down the stairs first. Sherlock pushed John as he entered the kitchen, and John stumbled his way in. Sherlock fell into a fit of giggles as he helped John regain his balance.  Mycroft looked up from the table and sighed.

“Well, at least _he’s_ in a better mood.” Nodding towards his brother.

“Am not.” Sherlock pouted.

“Are too.” John slapped his arse and went for the fridge.

“John just -” Mycroft held his hand up and looked horrified.

“Sherlock, shut up, or I’ll invite Mummy over for dinner.”

Sherlock clamped his mouth shut and glared at Mycroft.

“Oi! Don’t you go ruining his mood. I worked hard to get him that happy.” John tossed a slice of bread at Mycroft, forcing a grin from Sherlock.

“John, do refrain from throwing my food at me. And honestly, I don’t wish to hear about whatever it is you and my brother have been up too. It’s bad enough that I can _hear_ it.” Mycroft wrinkled his nose and folded the paper he had been reading.

"Mm..." John mumbled around the piece of toast he had shoved in his mouth. "And I'd rather not hear," he squared his shoulders and stuck his nose in the air, trying his best to imitate Mycroft's voice, _"Oh, yes! Yes, Gregory!"_ John glanced over at Mycroft. "Gregory, really?"

Mycroft paled and gave John an icy stare as Sherlock made gagging noises in the corner.  
  
"For once, would the two of you act your age, and not your shoe size?"  
  
"Sorry, brother mine. But I'm a ghost, here to haunt you." Sherlock looked incredibly serious as John laughed and choked on his toast.

"I swear. The two of you will be the death of me." Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled.  

"Don't swear, My. I'll tell mummy."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft stood and looked as if he was about to read Sherlock the riot act just as Greg walked into the kitchen. He strode over to Mycroft and kissed him.

"Hello, boys." Greg addressed the room as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"Hello, Gregory." Mycroft winced as John made thrusting movements with his hips behind Greg's back.

"Booooo...." Sherlock waved his hands in the air, picked up his toast and strolled out of the room, John close on his heels.

"What was that all about?" Greg looked at Mycroft with a worried and confused look. "Have... Have they cracked?"

"A long time ago, I'm afraid." Mycroft sat back down. Greg sat across Mycroft's lap and ran a hand through the man's thinning hair.

"I take it you told him then?" Greg kissed Mycroft's forehead.

"No."

"You really should. He won't be pleased when he finds out." Greg gave Mycroft a look that ate right through him.

“I know, Gregory. But… He’s happy. He hasn’t been happy in days.”

“You really are a big softie, aren’t you? Underneath all that official government facade.” Greg chuckled at his lover.

“Whatever are you talking about.” Mycroft put on an indifferent air, but there was a twinkle in his eye that only Greg knew.

“You love him, actually, love him.”

“Perhaps.” Mycroft patted Greg on the back, indicating he wanted to stand. Greg moved to his feet and went to the fridge to get a beer.

“Go tell them. Before they… get loud.” Greg popped the top off the beer and took a swig while leaning against the counter. “Maybe John will help me cook?” Greg looked hopeful.

“Yes,” Mycroft stood and dusted off his suit. “I’ll go talk to them. Stop gloating, it’s not very becoming.” Greg rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.

“Better hurry… Or you’ll have to wait.” Greg made a jerking motion with his hand and laughed when Mycroft groaned.

Mycroft walked up the stairs and listened for a moment at John and Sherlock’s door. He was just holding his hand up to knock when the door opened and Sherlock was grinning at him. His smile quickly faded when he saw Mycroft’s expression.

“What now?”

“I…” Mycroft forced a grin. “Mummy is coming for dinner. She is already on her way.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock scowled at his brother.

“Mummy insisted. Said something about meeting her son-in-law.”

“And Father?”

“I’m sure Mummy will drag him along.”

“Good.” Sherlock went to shut the door.

“Good? Why, Sherlock, I thought you would throw a fit.”

“Seeing you being questioned by both our parents? I think I’ll quite enjoy tonight.” Sherlock turned and as he shut the door addressed his husband. “John! Put on some clothes. Looks like you’ll get to meet my parents tonight.”

“Oh, Sherlock? Gregory would like John’s help with dinner. If you can spare him.”

Mycroft quickly turned and walked down the stairs before he could hear any more of the conversation.

Sherlock turned to John and gave him a look.

“If you need me to get you out of this, I will. I’ll say you have a sudden pain in your shoulder, and that I need to take you to the hospital.”

“No, Sherlock.” John chuckled as he pulled his trousers back up. “Help me with the belt? I’m sick of doing things one handed.” Sherlock moved to John’s side and helped him with the belt buckle.

“Wash you hands before you make dinner? I know where your hands have been.” Sherlock winked as he stood back up and leaned down to kiss John. John wrapped his hand around the nape of Sherlock’s neck and moaned happily.

“Maybe I wont, and I’ll make sure to serve your brother.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Anything for you, Sherlock.” John pulled back and winked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sherlock!” Mummy cupped Sherlock’s face when he answered the door. “So lovely to see you.” Sherlock forced a smile and shrank away from her touch before she could pinch his cheek.

“Please, come in, before Mycroft yells at me for abusing my parents.” Mr. Holmes smirked at his son and followed his wife into the house.

“Oh! Where is Myc?” Mrs. Holmes handed her gloves and scarf to Sherlock and looked around the house for her elder son. “Myc?”

“He’s hiding from you, upstairs in his study.”

Mrs. Holmes went to the foot of the stairs, took a deep breath and shouted. “Mycroft Holmes, you come down here this very instant and give your mother a kiss!”

Sherlock put his mother’s gloves and scarf on the table in the hall and turned to his father. “I’m just going to go help John set the table. One hand and all… makes it difficult.” Mr. Holmes nodded and guided his wife into the sitting room.

“Come on, stop pestering your children. Mycroft will be down shortly.”

Mrs. Holmes nodded and allowed her husband to guide her to the sofa. They were just sitting down when Mycroft could be heard walking down the stairs. Mycroft inhaled deeply, straightened his suit, forced a smile and stepped into the sitting room.

“Mother, Father. Lovely to see you. I’m sure…” Mycroft muttered the last bit while keeping a smile plastered into his face.

“What was that, dear?” Mrs. Holmes looked sharply at her son.

“Oh, just happy to see you.” Mycroft winced as his mother stood and gave her son a hug.

“That’s quite enough affection for one evening. Shall we see about dinner?” Mycroft nodded to his father and glared at him when he saw the raw amusement in his eyes.

“Why do you let her torture me so?”

“Because she gave birth to you, that’s why. Now let her meet your boyfriend before she has a fit.” Mr. Holmes hummed happily as he followed his wife and son into the dining room where John and Sherlock had just finished setting the table.

“Sherlock, I’ll leave you to introductions. I’m going to go help with the food.” Mycroft scurried out of the room and gladly disappeared into the relative safety of the kitchen. He hated this game of tag he and his brother had with their parents, but dreaded even more having to sit around the table for no less than an hour with his family.

“Just like Christmas, three years ago…” He muttered as he took a steaming platter from Greg.

“Oi, it can’t be that bad. They’re only your parents.” Greg laughed and patted Mycroft’s arse.

“Only? Honestly, Gregory, I thought you were an intelligent man.” Greg rolled his eyes and pushed Mycroft through the door into the dining room and followed him in with another platter.

“Dinner is served everyone!” Greg smiled and placed the platter down on the table. “Who wants beer? Or, anything else?”

“Whiskey, I’ll help.” John winked at Greg and after getting everyone's drink orders disappeared into the kitchen with the D.I. Once they were alone John laughed. “Is it just me, or is there enough tension in that room to make people believe we’re dealing with the Royal family?”

“You’re not kidding.” Greg scratched his head.

“They aren’t staying the night, are they?”

“Oh god…. I hadn’t thought of that.” Greg suddenly looked nervous. “Should I ask?”

“Not sure..” John helped Greg gather the drinks and nodded in the direction of the dining room. “Shall we?”

“Dinner with the Holmes family. How bad can it get?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night Greg found himself regretting asking that question. If you asked either Mycroft or Sherlock, dinner had been a disaster. Despite the look the brothers gave each other, John, Greg, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes enjoyed themselves.

Mycroft was all too happy to usher his parents to the door. He was just handing Mrs. Holmes her gloves when she placed an arm on Greg’s shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“Myc, mary this one. He cooks a fantastic Filet Mignon. Don’t let him get away. Or you’ll have me to answer too.” Mr. Holmes nodded his approval and gave Greg a firm handshake. “And John, so pleased to meet you. You’ve done my son wonders. Keep him safe, will you?”

“I’ll do my best. If he lets me.” John gave Mrs. Holmes a kiss on the cheek.

“Ahh, that’s the trick, isn’t it. My boys, so independant. Should have seen them, as toddlers.”

“That’s lovely, Mummy, don’t want to miss your train now, do you?” Sherlock allowed his mother to kiss him and ushered her outside to the waiting taxi. Mr. Holmes shook hands all around and followed his wife into the taxi.

Sherlock nodded as his parents waved goodbye and retreated back into the house with a sigh once they were out of sight.

“Never again.”

“Never.” Mycroft agreed.

“So, when _are_ you two getting married?” John grinned and looked at Greg while swatting a slap from Mycroft.

“Sherlock, take your husband upstairs before I punch him.” Mycroft glared at John as he and his brother walked up the stairs laughing.

“Mycroft?”

“Gregory, if you even think of asking I’m returning the ring I bought you. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Greg’s smile grew wide as Mycroft disappeared into his office.

“At least tell me if you’re kidding!” Greg waited a minute for an answer, after none came he sighed and shuffled into the kitchen to put away the dishes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this, I loved writing this, I laughed so hard!!!! Hope everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Can I get a round of laughter for John hip thrusting in front of Mycroft?!?!?!


	39. 20th December, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT** 
> 
> One of my readers (No ao3 account name yet but her name is Akasha) made an edit for my fic! I'm beyond honored

“Sherlock!” John called over his shoulder with a grunt. “Need your height.”

“Because you’re short.” Sherlock winked as he walked to John’s side.

“No, because you’re bloody tall.” John handed over the object he had been attempting to hang in the doorway that lead into the sitting room.

Sherlock took the mistletoe and nailed it in with ease. Once it was up he grabbed John by his collar and pulled him directly under the mistletoe with a wicked grin. He eased John against the doorframe and purred into John’s ear.

“I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t guess why you wanted my help.” Sherlock glanced over at the step stool by Jon’s fet and winked. The next second he lunged for John’s throat and sucked at it with vigor. Sherlock’s hand moved to John’s head and he grabbed at a handful of hair, tilting John’s head to the side slightly, revealing more of John's neck. Sherlock pinned John against the doorframe with his hips and moved his lips to John’s mouth. With a moan John thrust his tongue deep into Sherlock’s mouth. Both men glanced to the side, but didn’t part lips, when a loud clatter came from the corner of the room.

“Listen, I’m glad, really I am, that you two have found a way to deal with your boredom. But…. Not in front of me? Please?” Greg tossed down a second box of ornaments with a groan.

“But, Greg! It’s the law!” Sherlock pointed to the mistletoe and grinned, lips slightly swollen from the kiss he had just shared with John. “You’re the one who suggested we help decorate.”

“Decorate, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice came from the front hall, with it came a cool draft from the open door. “Not, ‘Don we now our anal sex.’ So, get decorating or resume your activities in your bedroom.” Mycroft addressed his brother casually, but the air of disdain was unmistakeable. Mycroft was dragging a freshly cut Christmas tree behind him, still in its netting. He pulled it into the house and shut the door against the cold winter air. Sherlock nipped at John’s lips one more time before moving to help his brother carry the tree into the sitting room.

“Seven feet, brother? Compensating for something, are we?”

Mycroft gave Sherlock an icy glare but said nothing as Greg and John snickered in the other room. Sherlock stifled a laugh and helped maneuver the tree into the sitting room. The brothers set about placing the tree in the stand while Greg and John decorated the room around them. Once the tree was to both brother’s liking, perfect, Sherlock removed the netting and gave a low whistle as the branches sprung out revealing a near perfect tree. Mycroft disappeared out of the room and came back a few minutes later with a box labeled “Christmas Lights.”

“Christ!” John peered into the box and groaned. “Why did you bother saving these?” He pulled out a mass of tangled lights and motioned for Greg to come help. Together they set about the long and tedious job of untangling the lights.

“Because, John. I figured they’d be useful someday.” Mycroft glanced at his watch, “Oh look, it’s someday.”

John grinned, shook his head and flashed Mycroft the middle finger causing the elder brother to roll his eyes. With a snort of laughter he turned his attention back to testing the lights for missing or burnt out bulbs. A short time later the task was complete and John and Sherlock were weaving around each other in unison as they wrapped the strands around the tree while Greg and Mycroft set about hanging the garland on the mantel. Finally, with a nod of approval John and Sherlock stepped back from the tree and Sherlock bent down and plugged the lights in.

“How does that look?”

“Fantastic.” John nodded. “Now… just the ornaments.” John’s demeanor suddenly changed and he shifted his weight on his feet nervously. “Uh… give me a mo?”  Sherlock looked on questioningly but nodded. A few minutes later John came down the stairs carrying a box. He handed the box to Sherlock, who took it with a quizzical look. Greg and Mycroft put down their decorations and stood on either side of Sherlock. John looked on with a nervous smile.

“Go ahead.” John cleared his throat, “Open it.”

Sherlock took a second to read John. _Nervous, but smiling. Gift. Bouncing on his toes. Excited impatiens. What’s this? Ordered online, postmarked a week ago?_  Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise. Somehow John had managed to keep this a secret from him. Carefully Sherlock cut through the tape on the cardboard box and opened it up. Inside was a beautiful sodden box made out of dark cherry with the periodic table engraved on the top. Sherlock lifted the wooden box out of it’s packing and traced his finger along the engravings.

“John…” Sherlock’s voice faltered.

“Open it, there’s more.” John was practically jumping up and down in excitement.

Sherlock nodded and opened the lid. Inside, on a sea of purple silk was a collection of 12 ornaments. Each ornament had a special meaning to both of them. Sherlock looked at it in stunned silence for a full five minutes.

“Sherlock?” John whispered, breaking Sherlock’s trance. Sherlock blinked hard and moved to the sofa, placing the box on his lap. He looked up at John with awe and turned back to the box, lifting each ornament out for all to see. He started with the set of five miniature glass beakers, each one filled with colored glass that sparkled in the light.

“Here, hang them on the tree for me, John?” Sherlock handed the beakers over and watched as John placed them on the tree.

Next Sherlock pulled out a gun, a Browning, with an attached mushroomed bullet. After turning them over in his hand a few times he handed them over to John. He repeated this process for the remaining items. He pulled out a replica of a London taxi, a magnifying glass, a scarf made of blue glass, a metal deer stalker, a silver atom and a miniature pink phone. Once all the ornaments were hung up Sherlock reached out and pulled John onto his lap.

“John, these… were perfect. Bloody perfect.” John nearly melted under Sherlock’s praise.

“I’m glad, Sherlock.” John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s and smiled. “It was a tradition, of my family’s, each year we would give each other ornaments a few days before Christmas.” Sherlock pulled back and searched John's eyes. It was rare to hear John talk about his family, and even more rare to hear him talk about them in a positive manner.

"My first ornament was a teddy bear with a stethoscope." Sherlock smiled, he could picture a young wide eyed John excitedly opening his ornaments each year.

"Do you still have it?"

"Errrr," John thought for a moment, "yeah, back at Baker Street somewhere in my room."

"Mycroft! We're taking a car!" Sherlock scooted John off his lap and stood. He walked into the hall and headed towards the hall, cursing when his socked feet stepped in a puddle of melted snow. After a moment of complaining about Mycroft's no shoes rule he pulled both his and John's shoes and coats out of the closet.

"Come on, John!"

"Where are we going?" John stepped into the hall and watched Sherlock cringe as he stuffed his wet foot into his shoe.

"To get your ornament!" Sherlock stood and wrapped his scarf around his neck and picked out of set of keys. They walked out into the cold air and hurried to Mycroft's garage. With a wide grin on his face Sherlock slipped into the driver's seat of a shiny red Camaro. John shook his head and grinned and slid into the passengers seat just as Sherlock turned the engine over.

"I can't believe that your brother owns one of these... Any chances he'll hand it over to us?"

"I'll ask!"

Both men breathed a content sigh as they tore out of the driveway and sped into London. Sherlock took the longest route possible, enjoying the freedom the road gave them.

"Christ, this feels...." John said absentmindedly, not fully aware he was even talking out loud.

"Right." Sherlock finished for him. John nodded and grinned as Sherlock revved the engine and they picked up speed.

"Sherlock, how..." John turned to look at Sherlock.

"How am I going to enter Baker Street unnoticed?" John nodded. "You'll go in and wish Mrs. Hudson happy holidays while I climb up the fire escape. I'll wait by the window in my bedroom, which you'll unlock for me after you mention to Mrs. Hudson that you wish to get some of your warmer clothes."

"Fantastic."

"You know you do that out loud?"

"Mm... Yeah, my husband likes it. He has a big ego."

"That's not all he has that's big!" Sherlock grinned.

"Where is your shame!?"

"I'm dead, I have none."

"Why do I feel like that is the new 'I'm a sociopath, John' excuse?"

Sherlock just grinned as an answer. A few minutes later both men fell silent as Sherlock pulled onto Baker Street. They drove slowly past 221 and Sherlock pulled onto a side street and Sherlock parked the car. John leaned over the console and kissed Sherlock.

"See you in a few."

"Mmm, love you." John slipped his wedding ring off his finger and pocketed it. He rounded the corner towards his former home. He knocked on the front door, and only had to wait a few moments before he heard the latch clatter. The door swung open and Mrs. Hudson was silhouetted in the door.

"John!" I wasn't expecting you!" She stepped aside and let John enter. She ushered him into her flat and sat him down at her kitchen table. "Do you have time for tea?" John thought about Sherlock waiting on the fire escape in the cold.

"No, not today. Another day, I promise. Was in the area, wanted to wish you happy holidays before you left for your sisters."

"You should get some of your warmer clothes, John." Mrs. Hudson sat across from John and took his hand. "How... Are.." She looked concerned, but was unable to finish the question.

"Better... Not, 100% had a bit of a setback with my shoulder. But... Better, yeah." John nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Think I will take you up on that offer. Mind if I go up?"

"Of course not, John! Just, come say goodbye before you leave. It's been lonely here without you boys."

"I will." John stood and made his way into 221b. He headed directly towards Sherlock's bedroom and opened the window for Sherlock who was shivering on the landing.

"Sorry, luv." John hastened to open the window.

Sherlock nodded and held his finger to his lips and then pointed up. They made their way quietly up the stairs. Once in John's room Sherlock relaxed a little, as the fear of Mrs. Hudson walking in on them wasn’t as prevalent.

“It’s a bit strange, being here.” John pulled a large duffle bag out of the closet. “It still feels like home, feels wrong taking things out.”

Sherlock nodded and stood against the wall so he was out of John’s way. He watched John move about the room. And found himself suddenly feeling sentimental towards their old home. He distracted himself from his feelings by internally cataloging each item John stuffed into the bag. _Red pants, jumper, blue shirt, 2 pairs of jeans, 5 pairs of socks, one extremely hideous christmas jumper, Note: remember to burn it when John is not paying attention._ When the bag was half full John handed it to Sherlock.

“Here, go get some of your things.” Sherlock nodded and took the bag. He carefully made his way down the stairs, making sure they were still alone in the flat. Once he was certain that Mrs. Hudson had not invited herself up, he allowed himself to breathed and moved down the stairs.  As he moved through the flat he packed away random objects from books to a set of lenses for his microscope. By the time he made it into his room, the bag was mostly full. He set about collecting some of his clothes, and cringed when he had to fold his suit jacket in order to fit it in the bag.  He was just zipping the bag when John walked into his bedroom holding two objects in his hand. One was the ornament that had been the cause of the trip, the other made Sherlock moan.

“No, John. No.”

“Yes, and that’s that.” John placed the antlers on his head and grinned.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” Sherlock shouldered the bag and moved carefully out of the window onto the fire escape. “Don’t take too long with Mrs. Hudson, or I’ll leave you two ladies here while I drive back home.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would, and I will.” Sherlock glared at the antlers and shut the window behind him. As John was leaning down to lock the window Sherlock turned, bent over and shoved his trousers and pants down to his knees and waved his arse in the air. John swiftly reopened the window, leaned out and gave that pale arse a hard slap. Sherlock pulled his trousers back up with a growl and rubbed his arse. John made to close the window but Sherlock stuck his head back in.

"I'll take those." He made to take the antlers off of John's head.  

"Oh, no you don't!" John moved out of Sherlock's reach and pointed to the street. "Go wait in the car.

As John walked out of Sherlock's room he realized with a groan that Sherlock had the bag. He grabbed a cloth shopping bag from under the sink in the kitchen and looked around for things to fill it with. His eyes fell to the plaid blanket on the back of his chair. He stuffed that in the bag along with the Union Jack pillow, lastly he grabbed his black jacket from behind the door. Satisfied he headed down the stairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door.

"Mrs. H? I'm off out." John embraced the woman as she came to the door. "Have a fantastic time with your sister."

"John, you're...." She held John at arms length and studied him hard. "It's just, the holidays.... They can be difficult, the first holiday after my husband..."

"I'll be alright. I've got Greg and Mycroft." It killed John to hide the truth from her when he saw the amount of worry she held for him. "It only gets easier, right?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded and walked John to the door.

"And you're sure you've got enough?" She eyed the small bag in John's hand.

"Mmm, yeah. I'm good." John smiled and stepped outside.  "Have a safe trip, I'll pop by after the holidays." Mrs. Hudson nodded and waved her farewell.

John made his way back to the car and tossed the bag in the backseat. He buckled himself in and leaned back in the seat.

"I hate not telling her." John sighed as the car started moving. Sherlock simply nodded as he merged into a busy street. A short time later Sherlock was parking the car back in the garage with a grin on his face, getting out of the house is exactly what they had needed.

"So?" Sherlock turned in his seat and looked at John expectantly. "Let's see it then?"

John reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small bundle of tissue paper. He unwrapped it and handed it to Sherlock who took it with nimble fingers. It was a small blond bear, about two inches in height, a stethoscope was wrapped around its neck and it was holding a medical chart with the name Jonathan on it.

"Jonathan? Jonathan Hamish Watson?"

"I will murder you."

"Hmmmm... Doubtful." Sherlock smile and handed the ornament back over. "Well," Sherlock climbed out of the car and continued. "that's going on the tree." Sherlock walked to John's side and wrapped a long arm around his waist as they walked towards the house.

"So, what does Jonathan want for Christmas?"

"For you to never call me that again." John stopped walking suddenly and reached into his pocket. Sherlock reached for John's hand.

"Let me?" John nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat and placed his ring in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock took John's left hand in his and slipped his ring back on his finger. "There... That's better."

They walked into the house hand in hand, and ignored the look on Greg's face when Sherlock kissed John under the mistletoe. After a quick snog John placed the ornament on the tree and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

 

"So, you like them? You kind of spaced out on me."

"John, they're perfect. This one is my favorite." Sherlock fingered the browning on the tree. "I don't know how to thank you."

"I know one way." John smirked and took Sherlock's hand and started leading him towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Do keep up, Sherlock! We're going to our bedroom, where you are going to thank me."

"Oh? Oh!" Sherlock blinked fast and giggled as he figured out what John meant. "Yes, I'll show you just how thankful I am."

"Greg," John called down the stairs, "Might want to take Mycroft out to lunch. Sherlock gets quite vocal when he's thankful."

"Oh, and Sherlock. You're wearing the antlers."

"Oi! I did not need that image, John!"  Greg reached for his jacket and groaned as he went to find Mycroft. _"All I want for Christmas is for this bloody house to be soundproofed..."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weekend is a holiday for me. Got a bit 4th of July party planned, so I might not have a chapter up for a week.


	40. 25th December, 2012

John woke to a warm arm draped across his torso and a curl tickling his nose. He shook his face and  wiggled his nose. He turned to look at his husband, who was still sound asleep next to him. If it hadn’t been for the proof before his very eyes, John never would have believed that Sherlock was a cuddler. But now, here next to him, was Sherlock. His left arm was draped over his chest, one leg entwined with his, and his head was resting on John’s chest. Sherlock stirred as John kissed to top of his head.

“Morning, Luv.” John placed a hand in Sherlock’s hair. Still mostly asleep, Sherlock leaned into the touch and made a purring noise. John chuckled and massaged his fingers against Sherlock’s scalp. “Mmm. Like that, do you?” Sherlock nodded lazily.

“It’s Christmas.” Sherlock murmured and rubbed his head against John’s hand.

“Yes, very observant. And tomorrow will be the day after Christmas. I think you’ve earned a prize.”

“Oh, shut up, John.” Sherlock chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows. He was just leaning in to kiss John when a loud shout broke through the stillness of the morning. He shared a look with John and rolled over onto his back. He stuffed a pillow over his head and groaned. “Not again. If I have to hear my brother shout ‘I’m coming, Gregory.’ again, I think I might puke.”

John rolled onto his side and ran a hand down Sherlock’s bare chest. He fingered the little line of hair that lead from Sherlock’s stomach to his groin and smiled when Sherlock’s muscles rippled. John leaned forward and trailed kisses down Sherlock’s happy trail and listened intently as Sherlock’s groans turned to moans.

“Sherlock, we could always…” John looked up and smiled as Sherlock peaked out from under the pillow. “drown their noises out.” John moved the blankets and kissed his way to Sherlock’s prick. “Love that you sleep naked.” John sucked Sherlock’s soft prick into his mouth. One of Sherlock’s hands flew to John’s hair, while he bit on a knuckle from the other hand. John reached up and moved the hand from Sherlock’s mouth.

“No, none of that. I want to hear you. Don’t hide on me.” John renewed his efforts by stroking his fingers lightly across Sherlock’s bollocks. He had to pin Sherlock to the bed as Sherlock jerked his hips up, nearly knocking John off the bed. Sherlock let out a cry of pleasure as John sucked Sherlock’s full length into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip of Sherlock’s prick.

“J-joh…” Sherlock’s broken cry was breathless and spoke of the desire bubbling over inside him.

“Mmm…” John moaned happily around Sherlock as he started to bob his head up and down. Sherlock gripped the bed with his free hand and arched his back. With a loud “pop” and a smirk John pulled his head up. “I’m going to make you cum, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard that the neighbors can hear you.” John smiled as a shiver ran down Sherlock’s body. John hummed his satisfaction as he sucked Sherlock’s stiffening length back into his mouth, sending vibrations down Sherlock’s prick

“John, you’re driving me insane.” Sherlock breathed, knuckles turning white.

John sucked on a finger until it was wet and swirled it around Sherlock’s puckered hole. Sherlock relaxed and John’s finger slipped in with ease. With excellent precision the pad of John’s finger brushed against Sherlock’s prostate sending a string of curses from Sherlock’s mouth. John added another finger, and succeeded in doubling the volume in which the the string of curses entered the room. John hooked his fingers and pumped his hand in unison with his head which caused Sherlock to thrash around the bed. John was expertly bringing Sherlock closer and closer to his orgasm, he knew exactly which buttons to press and when to press them.

A moan from the room down the hall made its way into their room, and in order to not lose the moment John pulled out his secret move.  With one hand on Sherlock’s balls, and three fingers inside Sherlock, John took the full length of Sherlock’s prick into his mouth and swallowed around it, sending Sherlock over the edge. Sherlock held John’s head down on his prick as he snapped his hips up as spurts of hot cum shot down John’s throat with a loud shout of pleasure. John waited until he had swallowed every drop until he pulled his fingers out. When he looked up Sherlock’s eyes were watching him, his tongue was running over his top lip and his chest was heaving from breathing hard.

“Look at you, Sherlock.” John purred, crawling over Sherlock before placing a kiss on Sherlock’s injured shoulder. “Bloody gorgeous.” John placed another kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder. “How’s your shoulder?”

“John, you’ve just turned my mind off, and you expect me to answer?” Sherlock gave John a soft smile.

“Mmm shut up and kiss me.” John moved up until he was hovering directly over Sherlock’s face. Sherlock reached up with his right hand and pulled John by the neck until their lips met. Sherlock moaned as John’s tongue brushed against his lips, begging entrance.  As their tongues met Sherlock’s fingernails dug into John’s neck. He could taste his cum in John’s mouth and that made him want John all the more. John responded by holding Sherlock’s tongue between his teeth and bit down. When John released his tongue, Sherlock grabbed him by the hips and flipped him onto his back. John gave out a startled cry that turned into a laugh as Sherlock bit down on his neck.

“Christ, I love you.”

“Shut up and fuck me, John.” Sherlock’s voice was thick, velvety and sent a shiver down John’s spine and caused butterflies in his stomach.

Sherlock reached a long arm over and clasped his fingers around the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He locked eyes with John, as if making sure that John’s attention was solely on him. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of John’s pajamas pants and pulled them off. With two long fingers he splayed John’s prick against the pudge of John’s torso and squeezed a stripe of lube down the length. John watched, as if bewitched, as those long fingers wrapped themselves around him, spreading the slick liquid around. He crawled over John’s hips, placed a hand behind him, grasped John’s prick and slowly lowered himself down on it.

“Mine, John, all mine.” Sherlock threw his head back and bit his lip as John’s prick brushed against his prostate. “So big…”

Another moan from the room down the hall could be heard. John snapped his hips up and grinned as Sherlock screamed his pleasure.

“That’s it, luv.” John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and helped guide him up and down. He watched, enchanted, as Sherlock bounced up and down on his prick. Three months ago, this was nothing more than a dream. In their short few weeks together John and Sherlock had learned each other's bodies as if they had been together for years so that John knew this was Sherlock’s favorite position. Sherlock loved to show off while on a case, and the bedroom was no different, he would do anything to entice a reaction out of John or to earn himself John’s praise.

“Talk to me, Sherlock… tell me how much you love this.” With his left hand, John gently caressed Sherlock’s stomach muscles, tracing his defined muscles with his index finger. Sherlock locked eyes with John and clenched his muscles around John, whose eyes rolled into the back of his head as he let out a soft moan.

“John,” Sherlock grinded down hard, “I love having your prick in my arse nearly as much as the thrill of having a case.”

“Nearly?” John looked up and laughed. Sherlock responded by rolling his eyes and grinding down again

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was laboured, he had to force himself to think as John’s thick prick smashed into his prostate over and over. “You… you know what I mean.” Sherlock pulled nearly all the way off John’s cock before sinking down hard and fast. Sherlock placed his palms behind him on John’s thighs and leaned back and smirked when John’s groan showed his approval of the new position

“Right there, Sherlock… Don’t bloody stop.”

“Oh, you mean…” Sherlock clenched and circled his hips as he sunk lower and lower, taking John’s full length. “this?

“Oh... “ John breathed, letting go of Sherlock’s hips, giving him full control. “Christ. Yes. Just like that, Sherlock… Christ, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Inside me, John. I want to feel ever last pulse your prick gives me, every hot spurt of cum, filling me even more than you are now.

John nodded and threw his head back into the pillow, still watching Sherlock, as he felt the tightness in his bollocks.

“Jesus Christ!” John snapped his hips up. He let out a low moan as he came, visions of Sherlock's glorious body riding him filled his mind. Sherlock clenched his muscles around John as the hot cum shot deep inside him, locking it in place. As John softened Sherlock pulled up and off moaning in delight as he felt John's spunk leak out of him. It was one of Sherlock's favorite feelings in the world. He loved the sticky feeling it left, trailing down his arse and thighs.

Sherlock waited until John's body stopped its twitching until he snaked his long limbs around John, effectively locking him in place as he snuggled into him. Sherlock peppered John's ear, neck, and shoulder with kisses. He loved the scent and taste of John post orgasm.

"Will it always be like this?" Sherlock nuzzled his nose into the crook of John's neck and breathed deep, inhaling his scent.

"Christ, yes." John hooked a leg over one of Sherlock's leg and rubbed his foot over Sherlock's calf while his strong hands ran over the small of Sherlock's back. "This.. You... Us." John cleared his throat and buried his nose in the sea of curls on Sherlock's head.  "I've never had anything quite like this. You're one of a kind, Sherlock. In a league all of your own. I..."

Whatever John was about to say got cut off by a loud rhythmic thumping followed by the unmistakable voice of Greg.

"Should we be concerned that we finished first?" Sherlock groaned and buried his head in John's neck, trying to rid himself of the image of his brother and Greg out of his mind

"Nahh..." John stroked Sherlock's back reassuredly. "I'm pretty sure he was faking." Sherlock chucked despite himself and leaned up to kiss John.  "Come on, Sherlock. Let's get in the shower before they do. And let's use all the hot water." John untangled himself from Sherlock and crawled out of bed.

"Mmm..." Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow and watched as John stepped back into his pajamas. "I knew there was a reason I married you." As John opened the bedroom door and made his way towards the bathroom Sherlock grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around his waist and followed John.

 

* * *

 

 

John and Sherlock were just sitting at the small table in the kitchen with tea when a knock sounded on the front door.

"Are we expecting anyone?" John asked Sherlock over his cup of tea

"No.  Well, yes, but I had hoped to avoid it." Sherlock looked towards the front door with a look of horror.

"Your mother?"

"My mother." Sherlock nodded and stood up, straightening his suit. "How much do you love me, John? Enough to suffer through an entire day with my entire family?" Sherlock sighed and headed to the door.

"Can I get back to you on that?" John called after Sherlock.

"I hate you, John.

"Mmhmm, whatever you say, Sherlock." John laughed into his tea and listened as Sherlock greeted his parents. After a few pleasantries Sherlock ushered his parents into the kitchen and set about fixing them both a cup of tea.

"John!" Mrs. Holmes placed her hands on John's shoulders and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. Sherlock watched with a smirk and John knew that his husband was thinking about what he'd done with his mouth earlier. "So lovely to see you again."

"Hello, mum. Mycroft didn't tell us you were coming." John grinned up at his mother-in-law

"Well, that's because Mycroft didn't know." Mrs. Holmes looked pleased with herself as she sat down next to her husband.

"Didn't know." Mr. Holmes echoed.

"Mummy, what a... Surprise." Mycroft walked into the room and avoided eye contact with his brother.

"How was your shower?" John smirked up at Mycroft who just glared at him.

Sherlock handed his parents their tea and sat down next to John at the table. Mycroft looked around the kitchen and sighed. "How kind of you, Sherlock, to not make enough tea for all of us."

"Me? Clearly your head is stuck in your arse if you think I'd offer you tea. You would insist that I poisoned it somehow."

"Not the only thing up your arse this morning..." John muttered rewarding him with an icy glare from Mycroft and an approving kiss from Sherlock.

"Boys! Behave yourself." Mrs. Holmes gave her eldest son a pointed look as she started busying herself around the kitchen.

"John started it." Mycroft pointed out but his mother just waved him off.

"Pancakes?" She asked the room as she set about finding the ingredients she required.

"With chocolate chips!" Both Sherlock and Mycroft said at the same time.

"Well, of course." Mrs. Holmes smile at her children. "Father, go get the presents out of the car while I make breakfast ?"  Mr. Holmes nodded and did as he was asked.

"Did someone say breakfast?" Greg walked into the room, running a hand through his short hair.

"My parents are here. It's wonderful, isn't it wonderful?" Mycroft forced a smile onto his face and with elbows on the table rested his head in his hands.

"Myc, elbows off the table." Mrs. Holmes tutted at her eldest son and shot Sherlock a look that quickly stifled his giggles.

Greg sat down at the table across from John and the two exchanged rather proud looks.

"Might want to turn the volume down, John, especially that early in the morning."

"We were rather forced to that volume, Greg." John smirked at the D.I. but quickly hid it as Mrs. Holmes looked over at them.

"If you two are talking about shagging my children, you'd best start praying now that I don't poison your breakfast."

"Sorry, Mum" John laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "At least we know where Sherlock first got the idea to poisoning food. I'll go help Father." He placed his tea on the table, kissed Sherlock on the cheek and went to help Mr. Holmes.

After breakfast everyone moved into the sitting room. Sherlock and John were sitting together on the oversize arm chair, and by sitting together, it was more like John was sitting on the chair while Sherlock had dropped himself over the chair and curled up in John's arms. Greg and Mycroft were sitting together, each on one side of the sofa while Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were each in an armchair. Mycroft had arranged the furniture so it formed a semicircle around the Christmas tree. Everyone was nursing a cup of tea, and there was a tray of nibbles on the coffee table the tween them, courtesy of Greg who had taken it upon himself to do most of the cooking.

"Shall we open presents?" Mycroft placed his tea down and looked around the room. Sherlock perked up and raised an eyebrow at his brother then with a knowing smile he curled back up on John's chest.

Mycroft walked over to the tree, knelt, and pulled out a box wrapped in silver paper. Without getting up he held out his hand to Greg, who got off the sofa with some confusion and stood in front of Mycroft.  

"Gregory, you have been my rock. Ever since we met, you are the one thing that I look forward too every day. So, Gregory, before I turn this proposal into one cliche, I'll ask you. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?" Mycroft looked up at Greg, and allowed all his hope, excitement and love show on his face. Greg's face broke into a grin that threatened to split his face in two

"Of course I will!" Greg sank to his knees in front of Mycroft and took his face in both his hands. "I love you, Mycroft." Greg and Mycroft kissed, and were completely oblivious to the shriek and tears of joy that came from Mrs. Holmes. Once the excitement of the moment calmed down a bit, and Greg and Mycroft had accepted congratulations from everyone Mycroft looked at Greg.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Mycroft handed the box to Greg who took it with a laugh.

"Yeah, of course." Greg opened the box and held out a set of matching plain gold bands. "Mycroft, they're perfect." Mycroft took the rings from Greg and slipped one of them on Greg's ring finger then allowed Greg to do the same for him.

Sherlock stood and turned in a circle, clapping his hands together. "Well, that was... Lovely. But, if I have to hear you two... celebrating later, I might puke. So, if I may, I think this," Sherlock pulled out a perfectly wrapped rectangular package and handed it to John, "is rather fitting. John, just.. Don't read it out loud." Sherlock winked and sat on the arm of John's chair and watched as John unwrapped the gift.

As John pulled the paper off he revealed a handmade booklet. Written on it, in Sherlock's handwriting was "For John's Eyes Only." John flipped it opened and stopped with a laugh at the first page.

"Really, Sherlock?" John shook his head and read what was written. "To be torn out and redeemed. This coupon is good for one massage, complete with a happy ending."

"They're all different, I repeated a couple, the ones I knew you'd like the best." Sherlock flipped through the book, showing John the different coupons he had created until John placed a hand on his leg and breathed so only Sherlock could hear. "These are having a rather strong effect on me, I suggest we stop looking at it before I get a raging hard on in front of your parents." With a snort of laughter Sherlock closed the booklet and kissed John.

"Here, I got you something too." John stood from the chair with a grunt and rubbed his shoulder. He reached under the tree and pulled out a long flat box.

"Clothing?" Sherlock guessed as he took the box.

"Oh, shut up and open it." John slapped Sherlock's leg as he sat back down.

"He's been doing that since he could talk." Mr. Holmes shook his head and gave his son a look.

Sherlock ignored the remark and tore open the box. Inside was a brand new suit that looked as if it would fit him like a glove. Sherlock ran a finger over the black material and sighed approvingly. He ran his hand down the sleeve and fingered the cuff. "What's this?"

"That," John took the jacket in his hand and flipped the cuff inside out. "is what makes this so special. Hidden in the cuff is actually a wire... It's, uh, in case you need to pick a lock." John shrugged, he knew it wasn't romantic, but it was like him to plan for worst case scenarios. Especially after the events that had taken place over the past few months. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John, the movement made the box slip and a noise sounded as something slipped out of the box. Sherlock leaned down and picked the object up off the ground.

"John..." Sherlock fingered John's old dog tags as he sat back up. "For me?" John swallowed hard and nodded. Sherlock slopped them around his neck and grabbed John's face and smothered him with kisses.

Once the emotion in the room died down more presents were passed out. Mycroft was given an expensive fountain pen by his parents, and Sherlock was given a portable backup battery for his phone. John was given a new laptop and Greg a set of state of the art pans.

They spent the rest of the day eating, laughing, listening to Mr. Holmes hum. They ended the day by Sherlock playing a round of Christmas carols on his violin while wearing the antlers.

At the end of the evening they all wished Mr. and Mrs. Holmes merry Christmas and safe travels. John pulled out the booklet and tore out a coupon.

"Come on, Sherlock, I'm cashing in!" He shoved the coupon at Sherlock and headed up the stairs. Sherlock looked at the coupon and grinned when he read it.

"Oi! What are you two up to now?" Greg called after Sherlock as he darted up the stairs.

"Rim job." Sherlock waved the coupon in the air and laughed as Greg cursed.

"Why do I bother asking?" Greg moved into the sitting room and turned up the Christmas music, while nursing a glass of whiskey.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks goes to my friend caitlin for suggesting the sexy coupon book. 
> 
> We'll see some of those being cashed in... For sure.


	41. 21st January, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something :) Have the next few chapters planned out, but I needed a filler. 
> 
> I know nothing about the violin.... so forgive me if any of you play!

"No, John. Like this!" Sherlock was trying his best to not sound annoyed as he shifted the position of the violin against John's neck. "Elbow out, and here.. You're not supposed to man handle the bow!" With one hand he held John's elbow up while fixing John's fingers on the bow. He stepped back, looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded his approval.

"Good, now, try and remember what I've told you." Sherlock prowled around John, placing a hand on the small of his back in an attempt to fix John's posture. "And, breathe." John nodded and let out the breath he had been holding.

John brought the bow to the instrument and ran it lightly across the strings, shifting his fingers until he found the note he was looking for. Upon finding it his tongue shot out of his mouth and played at the corner of his lips while he began picking the notes out as Sherlock called them out. Sherlock had come up with a system, each string had a corresponding color.

"Purple, zero."

"Purple... Erm, E string. Zero, no finger." John fumbled for a moment but was able to play the high pitched note with only a slight warble.

"Blue, three."

"Blue, G string, three... ring finger?" The strings protested their annoyance as John's fingers slid around but he gave a satisfied grunt when he found the correct note.

"You know, Sherlock, I will need to actually learn the notes."

"John, you can already read sheet music. I know this for a fact, right now fingering is the most important."

"Oh, but I've already perfected the art of fingering."

"Then why..." Sherlock caught the look on John's face and blushed. "Oh, you mean..."

"Yes, I do." John put the violin down and stalked his way up to Sherlock and pulled their bodies close by the hips. "I could show you, again."

"John, I..." Sherlock mumbled, lost by the sudden shift in John's mood and the fiery look of passion in his eyes.  

"What?" John purred while scraping his teeth over Sherlock's neck.

"I'm supposed to be teaching you how to play the violin." Sherlock had to grab onto John to hold himself up as he felt his knees go weak when John sucked on a sensitive spot just behind his ear.

"Yeess? And?" John pursed his lips and looked up seductively at Sherlock.

"John..." Sherlock moaned as his hands groped across John's back.

"Listen, we're about to leave. About to go chase down Moriarty's gang. Who knows, after today, when we'll get a chance." John cupped Sherlock's groin gently, letting the warmth of his hand wash over Sherlock. "Oh, and..." John pressed his hand more firmly against Sherlock's groin, "I happen to know that we are alone for the day. Just us... In this big house." John pressed kisses against Sherlock's jaw line. "All... alone." John rasped Sherlock's collar with both his hands and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Here?" Sherlock looked around the sitting room and then back to John's face. Sherlock nearly came apart by John's face alone. His eyes were piercingly blue, the color of the sea during a storm, his brow was furrowed, and his tongue... Oh that tongue, it was tracing his bottom lip then sucking his lip into his mouth. "Don't do that." Sherlock brought a hand to John's face and traced John's lips with his finger. "You've been teasing me with that tongue since the day we met."

"And what do you plan on doing about that?" John closed his eyes and leaned into Sherlock's hand as Sherlock ran a fingernail over the stubble over John's upper lip.

"I plan on testing your fingering skills." Sherlock ran his thumb possessively over John's lips.

"Look at you, taking control..." John purred and nuzzled against Sherlock's hand.

"Do you like that? Do you like the idea of me, controlling you, controlling every.." Sherlock leaned down and breathed John's air. "ounce... of your pleasure?" Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulder and pushed him back a few feet until John was forced to sit on the sofa.

"Yes." John nodded and cleared his throat as he fell back to the sofa.

"Good. Green, two." Sherlock handed the violin back to John with a smirk.

"Sherlock? Seriously?" John groaned.

"If you can string together a handful of notes, then I will consider fucking you against the dining room table."

"You are a heartless bastard." John laughed and positioned the violin under his chin.

"I'll remember that, when you're begging me to let you cum." Sherlock arched an eyebrow as he sat in an armchair across from John.

“Fine.” John rested his chin rather angrily on the violin and plucked out the series of notes as Sherlock called them out.

“Careful!” Sherlock scolded. “What if I treated you like that?”

There was a loud screech as John’s fingers faltered on the bow as his breath caught. Sherlock arched an eyebrow and sat back in the chair. _“So, John wants to be dominated? Is that what this is?”_ Sherlock field away the information and stood up. Hands clasped behind his back he paced the room and called out a string of notes. John did his best to follow along and managed to pick out just over half of the notes with some accuracy.

“Very good, John. Now.” Sherlock spun on his heals, placed a hand on the back of the sofa and loomed over John. “I’m going to go upstairs and  get some lube. When I get back, I expect you to be naked and bent over that table.” Sherlock pointed towards the dining room.

“Fully… naked?” John swallowed hard but held Sherlock’s gaze. “But what if…”

“As you pointed out, we are alone. My brother is at work and is not expected for hours, as for Greg… Holiday is over, he’s probably up to his ears in paperwork. So, yes, naked. Clock is ticking.” Sherlock pushed himself away from the sofa. Before he had even made it to the stairs John was standing and ridding himself of his shirt. When Sherlock returned John was bent over the table, arms folded under his chin and legs spread as far apart as was comfortable.

“Sherlock, you realize…”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded.

“You realize,” John began again. “that we’ve become addicted to each other. To.. this, to us.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a trail of kisses down John’s spine, stopping when he reached the curve of John’s arse. “I’d rather be addicted to you, than anything else. Now be quiet or you’ll ruin the moment.”

John’s chuckle became a gasp as Sherlock spread John’s arse cheeks. Just as Sherlock was leaning in to tease John’s hole with his tongue they heard the sound of a car on the gravel drive. John looked up at Sherlock and groaned as he scurried around for his clothes.

“What the hell is your brother doing back so early?” John jumped in place, trying to get his pants and trousers on at the same time.

“God knows.” Sherlock slipped the lube into his pocket and tossed John his shirt. “Do hurry, John, or we’ll have some awkward explaining to do.”

“Hurry? Oh yes, I’ll stop taking my time. Because obviously I want to get caught naked in your brother’s dining room!” John shot Sherlock a look as he stuffed his arms into his shirt. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and sat back down in the sitting room and pointed to the violin. John, catching his drift, nodded and once he was fully dressed sat back down on the sofa, violin in his hands.

“Stop slouching, John.” Sherlock spoke as the door opened. “You need to keep your back straight, and do stop touching the hair on the bow.”

“Sherlock, isn’t this enough for one day?” John loosened the strings on the bow and placed it and the violin back in the case.

Mycroft entered the house stiffed the air as if he could smell mischief and glanced at his brother with a suspicious air.

“I thought you two would be packing?”

“What for?” Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes, acting like a toddler under his brother's glare.

“Well, you are leaving tomorrow.” Mycroft hung his umbrella and jacket up in the hall closet and glanced between John and Sherlock. “You two are up to something. But… what?”

“Well, I’m up to about… 5’6. That one there… How tall are you Sherlock? 6 feet even?” John stood and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder as he walked past him. “Mycroft is right, we should pack.”

“Don’t forget,” Mycroft called after his brother. “we’re meeting our parents for dinner.”

“How could I forget, Mycroft, if you won't stop reminding me?”

Sherlock followed John into their room and shut the door behind him. As the door clicked shut John buried his head in Sherlock’s chest and both men burst into a fit a giggles. 

“That was close.” John giggled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

“Too close.” Sherlock buried his nose in John’s hair and laughed.

“Did you see his face? Trying to figure out what we were hiding?”

“Priceless, John.”

“I almost told him. Wanted to see the look on his face when I told him we were planning on having sex on his table.”

“Thank you for not saying that. I’m pretty sure he would make us buy him a new table.” Sherlock withdrew from John’s arms and pulled their suitcases out of the closet and placed them on their bed.

“So, tomorrow then.” John became sober as he looked at the two cases.

“Yes. Second thoughts?” Sherlock glanced at John, trying to read him.

“No, not at all.”

Sherlock pulled John into a tight embrace and whispered into his ear. “You don’t have to come. You could stay here and wait for me. It won't be safe.”

“That’s the reason I’m going. Someone has to protect you.” John pulled his gun out of a drawer and fingered it lovingly. The weight in his hand was familiar, as if an extension of his own hand. After checking to make sure the chamber was empty he placed the gun on the bed and set about packing.

“What are you, my knight in shining armor?”

“Something like that.” John winked and tossed some pants into the case. “You’d better pack, you’ll draw less attention to yourself if you’re not running around stark naked.

“Git.” Sherlock chuckled as he began sorting through his clothes.

* * *

 

They arrived home from dinner late that night, though exhausted the four men sat up in the sitting room nursing glasses of whiskey in silence.

“You’re ready then?” Mycroft broke the silence.

“Yes, we’re all packed, we have our next target, all we need is to get there.”

“It’ll be weird… Not having you gents here.” Greg said sullenly as he took a sip of whiskey.

“We’ll be back.” John said firmly. “But, we’ll move back into Baker Street. This has been fun, but I think we can all say we need our space.”

“Cheers.” Mycroft and Sherlock said in unison.

“Stay in contact, when you can. And John, take care of my brother.” Mycroft stood and offered his hand to John.

“Why, Mycroft, it almost sounds as if you care.” John winked as he shook Mycroft’s hand.

“Thank you, My, for everything.” Sherlock stood and pulled his brother into a rather awkward embrace. Mycroft just nodded and smiled as Sherlock pulled away.

“A car will be out front to collect you both at 5am. Do try to get some sleep.”

With that they all said their goodnights and headed their separate ways. Once in bed John rolled over and rested his head on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him close.

“It’s not too late.”

“Sherlock, I’m going with you. And don’t you _dare_ think of leaving without me. Do you understand?” John looked up and glared at Sherlock who nodded. “Good, I want to go with you.”

“What will you say, if people ask you where you are?” Sherlock’s voice was soft, but dripping with apprehension.

“Hmm?” John was just starting to feel sleep claim him, but he knew Sherlock needed to talk this out so he propped himself on his side and watched his husband.

“And, your blog?” Sherlock was staring at the ceiling, eyes darting as his mind raced.

“God, I haven’t touched that… in ages.”

“Could say you’ve gone on holiday. Needed to get London out of your lungs.” Sherlock looked over at John.

“Mmm. Could work. Post pictures of places I’ve gone… My recovery, or whatever you want to call it.” John curled back up on Sherlock’s chest and hummed happily when Sherlock placed a hand in his hair.

“This can work then. We’ll make it work.” Sherlock finally seemed satisfied and he allowed John to reach up and kiss him on the cheek as he spoke slowly, sleep finally taking hold.

“It can, and it will. I’ve never been to Spain.”

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock ran his hands through John’s hair and listened as John slipped into a deep sleep. Knowing John couldn’t hear him, but needing to say it out loud Sherlock whispered quietly into the night. “Thank you for telling me not to leave you.”

  
  
  
  



	42. 22nd, January 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures are taken off of the Hotel's website. I thought I'd ad them in, mainly because they are gorgeous and I couldn't help myself! This is a real hotel in Barcelona, and a real suite.

Sherlock watched as the plane circled around the colorful city of Barcelona. It was only after the plane came to a complete stop that Sherlock had the heart to wake John. John’s head was resting on his shoulder so he leaned over and pressed a kiss to John’s temple and whispered softly into his ear. “John, we’re here. Need to wake up now.”

“Mmm, what time is it?” John sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Quarter to 8, we’re an hour ahead, you’ll want to change your watch.” John nodded and adjusted his watch accordingly.

“What’s the plan?” John asked over his shoulder as he reached for their bags.

“We’re to touch base with Mycroft’s contact, and if I’m not mistaken,” Sherlock stooped and looked out the window and watched as a man in a tan linen suit, with a large manila envelope under his arm, walked up to the plane. “that is him.”

Stairs were wheeled over and pushed against the plane, the door was opened and John and Sherlock were ushered outside. A young man took their bags from John and began loading them in a sleek black car. The man in the linen suit walked up to Sherlock and offered his hand.

“Mr. Watson, Cody Baldomero.”

“Cody.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the man’s introduction. “Mother is English, father is a native.” He took the offered hand and then motioned towards John. “This is my husband, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock glanced over at at his husband and nearly laughed out loud when he saw just how chuffed John was at his introduction.

“Yes, hello.” John shook Cody’s hand then wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “So, what is the plan? Mycroft told us nothing.”

“You two,” Cody opened the envelope and pulled out a folder and handed it to Sherlock who opened it and began reading the contents. “will be posing as honeymooners. You’ll be staying at W Barcelona in the Extreme Wow Suite.”

“Christ? Seriously?” John let out a low whistle as he looked over the page containing the hotel information.

  
_“Extreme heights. Ultimate style. Explore more from the top of it all. This singular three-bedroom penthouse suite, personally designed by Ricardo Bofill, brings contemporary design and fabulous views to a whole new level. Indulge in 59-square-meters of extensive exterior terrace with a private Jacuzzi and sunbeds for lounging day and night. With a dining table for six, living room with a surround sound system, and full equipped kitchenette, there are more than enough reasons to just stay in. The Extreme Wow Suite is the ultimate place to take in the scene, or make your own.”_

“Well, you and I will be having a talk about the ‘Extreme height’, Sherlock. But a bloody jacuzzi? I can think of more than one use for that.”

“As have countless others before you, John.” Sherlock smirked but John was not put off.

“Well, it does say ‘make you own scene.’ I consider that an invitation.” John flipped through the pictures and grinned.

_Peer out over views of Barcelona and the sea in this intimate space. Leather and wood finishes make this space even more livable._

 

_Personally designed by Ricardo Bofill and brought to life with contemporary wooden walls and floor-to-ceiling mirrors, explore the only three bedroom suite with 360-degree views of Barcelona and Mediterranean Sea_

 

_Extreme living. Welcome to the only three bedroom suite with 360-degree views of Barcelona and Mediterranean Sea._

 

_Get back to business a the work desk. At 295 sq. m. with space for 6, you can do it all from the top of it all._

 

_Modern design, luxe comforts. Discover a vision of Isabel López Vilalta with extreme Mediterranean views._

 

_Slip into a private cabana where 360º views of the port, the city, the beach, and the infinite the Mediterranean are yours to enjoy._

“Might actually owe Mycroft a bit of thanks when this is over. That’s probably the best suite they have to offer. Doesn’t come cheap either, and we’ll be staying indefinitely.” John scratched the back of his head. “Wait, how.. how is that undercover? We’ll be staying at one of the most well known hotels in all of Barcelona, if not all of Spain.”

“Hiding in plain sight, John. People don’t see the obvious.” Sherlock flicked through the folder, nodded in satisfaction that all seemed to be there and stuffed it under his arm. “Shall we get going then, I daresay my husband will be getting hungry soon. He’s a bit of a grump when he’s hungry.” Sherlock winked and flipped his collar up.

“Am not!?” John pinched Sherlock’s arse as the detective began walking away. “But, I am hungry.” John shook his head and laughed as he followed Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock, are you seeing this?” John asked as he pushed the door open.

“Yes, John. But I fail to see what is so impressive.” Sherlock stopped short when he looked around the room. “Oh.” Sherlock closed the door behind him and took in the suite. “Oh… I see.”

“Three beds?” John moved through the suite, running his hands over the leather sofas. “We will most definitely be having sex on all of them.”

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smirk as he moved across the suite, he opened the sliding door that lead to the terrace but stopped short at John’s shout.

“Oi! I don’t think so. You and heights… Not on my honeymoon, mister. At least not until a proper shag.”

“John, we’re on a case.” Sherlock turned around and smiled as John stalked up to him and shoved a lecturing finger in his face.

“Well, yes. But we’re undercover as honeymooners, like Lois and Clark.” John hooked the same  finger over the collar of Sherlock’s shirt and pulled him into an embrace.

“Who?” Sherlock pulled away with a confused look.

“Lois Lane… Superman… You know, what, never mind.” John rolled his eyes and turned to explore the rest of the suite. Sherlock smiled as he heard John’s excited voice coming from the bathroom, talking about how perfect the Jacuzzi was for a shag.  Sherlock took his scarf off and draped it over a chair and called out to John. “Breakfast then? We’ll go over the folder while we eat?”

“Yeah, sure!” John’s voice grew louder as he walked back into the main room. “There’s a kitchen. We can do some shopping later, won't have to eat out.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Sherlock pulled John into his arms and kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah.” John nodded against his lean chest and gripped the back of Sherlock’s shirt. “I am. But mainly because I’m with you. “Listen, I know we’re on a case. But, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy ourselves in the meantime, would it? I mean, look around us. Mycroft could have gotten us any room, at any hotel. Or set us up with a safe house. But instead, he got us the best suite Barcelona has to offer. You and your brother are all about bloody hidden messages, why not take this as one?”

“John, don’t let anyone ever tell you that you are anything other than a genius.” Sherlock kissed John’s cheek and picked up a phone to order breakfast. Once breakfast was ordered he collapsed onto one of the many sofas and sighed. “This is by far, the best place I’ve stayed while on this mission. Some nights, I was lucky to have a roof over my head.”

John sank down on the sofa next to Sherlock’s head and hummed happily when Sherlock repositioned himself so his head was on John’s lap. He said nothing but Sherlock could feel how tense his body had become.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean.” Sherlock twisted his body until he was looking up at John.

“It’s fine, you’re fine. I know it wasn’t easy for you, before you came back.” John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as if to reassure himself that Sherlock was in fact okay. “It’ll be different now. Now that I’m here. You know that I’ve always got your back. I’ll keep you safe.”

Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes as John spoke. Things would be different. They might not always be luxurious, but he had a trusted companion in John. They stayed on the sofa until the knock on the door indicated the arrival of their breakfast. Sherlock answered the door, thanked and tipped the waiter and walked towards the kitchenette.

“Did you just,” John pointed to the door, “did you tip him? Without being asked or reminded?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock gave John an annoyed look as he placed the food down on the table. “Problem?”

“Well, no.” John sat at the table and looked up at Sherlock with a bemused look. ‘Just usually, I have to pay, or yell at you until you do.”

“Well, keeping the staff happy could prove useful, John. You never know when they might have useful information. Sherlock positioned the folder between himself and John and flipped it open. The first page had surveillance pictures of a middle aged man whose hair was just beginning to grey around the ears. Underneath the picture was written.

_“Alfredo Calisto, Age 45. No known family, suspected ring leader. Mastermind behind the disappearances of no fewer than 5 Government officials. Murder is suspected, but no bodies have been recovered.”_

“Government officials, what kind?” John scanned the folder. “Ahh.. all Finance officers. This man knows what he’s after.” John chewed on a mouthful of fruit and skimmed the page some more. “No known method of communication, police have been monitoring phones, e-mail and all known forms of communication.” John looked over at Sherlock who was lost in thought. “Sherlock, you’re sure this is tied to Moriarty’s intelligence network?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s answer was short but confident so John did not press the matter further.

“First logical step then?”

“Investigate the houses of the missing men, their offices, and last known locations.” Sherlock flipped through the folder until he came to the pages listing the victims. “I dare say, there is little to go on, these are are old cases… I need fresh data.”

“What I don’t get, is why they waited this long to bring you in.” John sat back in his chair and sighed.

“It wasn’t until a few days ago that Mycroft’s men were able to make a connection, and then it took time to get the police to agree to let me work the case.”

“Right, so when do we start?” John stood up and when he was done cleaning the table he sighed and looked at Sherlock. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock blinked and looked up. “Oh, tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” John sat on the sofa and made room for Sherlock as he joined him.

“Because, we’re still waiting on cooperation from the entire force that our presence will be kept quite. While Moran was able to figure out that I had faked my death, I hold out hope that the rest of the network isn’t as smart.”

“So, what do we do today then?” John glanced over at Sherlock and placed his hand on Sherlock’s thigh.

“I can think of, three, no… four, things to do” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave as he moved to lean over John.

Is either the Jacuzzi or floor length mirrors part of that?” John felt his heart skip a beat as Sherlock leaned in close and crowded over him on the sofa.

“And, if it does?” Sherlock leaned in closer until their noses were all but touching so all that John could smell was Sherlock’s crisp aftershave.

“Perhaps.” Sherlock’s voice was a low growl.

“Not…” John swallowed heart and blinked up at Sherlock. “Not going to share?”

“I’ll leave you to your deductions.” Sherlock pushed off the sofa and walked towards the bathroom while unbuttoning his shirt. “Need a shower, won't be long.”

“Bastard…” John groaned and shook his head as Sherlock dropped his shirt to the ground just before entering the bathroom. John moved into the kitchen to have a look around and spotted a bottle of 2011 Viña El Pison. He contemplated opening but the clock told him it was only 9:30.

“Open it anyway, John! It’s our honeymoon. Bring me a glass.” Sherlock yelled from the bathroom as he turned the taps on. John shook his head and grinned as he searched for a corkscrew.

“Top left drawer next to the sink”

“Oi! Get out of my head!” John shouted back. John searched the drawer and sure enough, the corkscrew was there. He pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and filled each glass up halfway. He brought the glasses into the bathroom and was just in time to watch Sherlock slip into the Jacuzzi.  “Oi, you said a shower.”

“Yes, but this way we can drink our wine together.” Sherlock pointed to the other side of the Jacuzzi and reached his hands out for the glasses and held them as John quickly rid himself of his clothes. He slipped into the almost too hot water and sighed. “Christ, that’s good. Ah, ta.” John took his glass back from Sherlock. The water sloshed as Sherlock leaned forward and held his glass out.

“I may not be the first person called upon to give a speech, but I would like to say something. John, it’s you. Always you. You keep me right, you keep me grounded.”

“Sherlock…” John’s voice cracked as he looked at his husband.  “This…” he gestured to the room and to the wine, “is more than I ever could have asked for.” John leaned forward and clinked his glass against Sherlock’s. He brought the glass to his nose and inhaled. “Not sure I want to know the price tag on this one.”

“You don’t.” Sherlock smirked and took a sip and hummed his approval.

John wiggled his toes and moved lower in the water as he sipped on his wine.

“It’s 9:30 in the morning, and we’re drinking in a Jacuzzi.” He laughed as he rubbed his feet along Sherlock’s side and chest.

“It’s our honeymoon. and our day off. Enjoy it.” Sherlock winked. “I intend on soaking until the water goes cold… and then,  yes, mirrors.”  John felt his cock twitch in interest but willed himself to push the thought from his mind in favor of enjoying the bath.

  

* * *

 

John climbed out of the bath and wrapped a towel around his hips, he was just tucking in when Sherlock’s wet arms wrapped around his waist from behind and his buried his nose into the crook of John’s neck. “Bedroom.” He murmured  as he placed open mouth kisses to John’s neck.

“Mmmm.” John leaned back and hummed as Sherlock’s damp curls tickled the back of his neck.

“Now.” Sherlock pulled away and walked out of the bathroom without bothering to grab a towel.

“Oi! You’ll get the bed all wet!” Sherlock called after John.

“Then bring a towel and dry me off.” Sherlock’s voice was low and sultry and it was all John could to to not run after him like a horny teenager. Instead he dried himself off, gathered up a fresh towel and followed after his husband. He found Sherlock with his arms crossed looking out the window with his back to the bed.

John walked up behind Sherlock and began gently rubbing the towel over Sherlock’s body. Once Sherlock was try John turned him around and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s. There was a mutual understanding between the men that now that Sherlock had John where he wanted him, John was in full control of the situation. John reached his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head and grabbed a handful of of hair and tilted Sherlock’s neck back. He kissed Sherlock’s exposed neck until Sherlock couldn’t hold back the moans. John gave Sherlock’s neck one final kiss before pulling off, spinning Sherlock around and tossing him to the bed.

“Hands and knees, towel underneath you. Sherlock, which case did you put the lube?”

“Yours.” Sherlock clambered onto his hands and knees and spread his legs as far apart as he could. John eyed Sherlock’s body and for a second was unable to take his eyes off the way Sherlock’s balls hung between his legs. Before John went to get the lube he leaned forward on the bed and played his fingers along Sherlock’s balls before cupping them and giving them a light squeeze.

“Right, I’ll be back. Don’t move.” John moved into the main room and fished through his case until he found the tube of lubricant. As he walked back into the bedroom his eyes met Sherlock’s through the mirror behind the bed. He flicked open the tube and squeezed a liberal amount onto his hand. He got on his knees on the bed behind Sherlock while stroking his cock. He watched Sherlock through the mirror and moaned aloud as Sherlock ran his tongue over his lips.

“Christ…” John breathed and leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s back as he ran his slick hand across Sherlock’s cock, balls and up his crack. “I want you to watch me. Don’t take your eyes off me even for a second. Nod if you understand.” John sat back up and smiled as Sherlock nodded.

John began his slow and torturous assault. He pushed his index finger into Sherlock while still stroking himself. He began slowly pushing his finger in and out, breathing heavily each time Sherlock’s muscles tightened and sucked his finger in further. John added a second, and then third finger and started twisting his wrist with each thrust. Sherlock began rocking on his knees, pushing further down on John’s fingers. As John’s fingers slipped deeper into Sherlock he hooked his fingers just enough to brush lightly against Sherlock’s prostate.

When Sherlock was ready John slid his cock against Sherlock’s arse. He made eye contact and slowly pushed in. Sherlock arched his back and his eyes grew wide with pleasure as John sheathed himself inside Sherlock’s heat. Sherlock bit his lip and let out a moan as John pulled all the way back out, only to slam back into him relentlessly.

“I love you, Sherlock.” John grunted as he made the entire bed rock with his movements. “I love you so much, I need to show you.” John leaned down enough so he could wrap his arm underneath Sherlock and took Sherlock’s cock in his strong grip. He pumped Sherlock’s cock in time with his thrusts and the men filled the suite with the smell and sounds of sex. Sherlock’s breathing became labored and he was having trouble keeping his eyes fixed on John.

“Sherlock, I need you to cum for me.” John growled as he kissed his way across Sherlock’s spine. He felt Sherlock shiver beneath his lips as Sherlock slammed himself back on John’s cock. Warm hot liquid spilled over his hand and onto the towel beneath them. As Sherlock came his muscles clamped over John’s cock, sending waves of pleasure coursing through John’s body. With a final grunt he snapped his hips and collapsed over Sherlock’s back, and consequently onto the bed as, he came inside him.

John rolled onto his side, placing an arm around Sherlock as he softened and slipped out of him. He dabbed the corner of the towel between Sherlock’s cheeks and wiped away his mess before thoroughly collapsing onto the bed. Sherlock turned and buried his head into John’s collarbone and gently muttered.

"If this is what constitutes as a Sex Holiday then I understand now why the general populous enjoys them so much. Though I could go for a cigarette.”

“Sex Holiday?” John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s hair. “I quite like the sounds of that.” John pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight as Sherlock hummed his happiness. “Nap and then lunch?”

“Sounds perfect.” Sherlock tossed the towel to the floor and they both moved on the bed until they were able to pull the duvet over themselves. Sherlock settled back into John’s arms. “I’m glad you’re here. John.”

“Me too, Sherlock.”


	43. 26th January, 2013

 

John and Sherlock spent the week learning the city as they traveled between the old crime scenes. Much to Sherlock’s dismay, he had been unable to ascertain any new information at any of the scenes. Which left them with very little to go on.

“We’ve solved cases with less to go on before, John. Don’t lose heart. Sooner or later they’ll slip up, they always do.” Sherlock said as he straddled a two seater moped. “All we can do now is organize what we do have, and wait for more of the puzzle.” Sherlock slipped his helmet on and steadied the moped as John sat behind him.

“I bloody hate this thing.” John complained as he shoved the helmet on his head with force. “Can’t we get a car?”

“When in Rome.” Sherlock started engine.

“Even Rome has cars.” John grumbled as he placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

“Yes, but this is much faster, John.” Sherlock revved the engine and they shot off down the street. A short while later they pulled up in front of the hotel and Sherlock tossed the keys to the valet.

“Faster?” John stomped after Sherlock. “Anything is faster if you forget to use the _bloody roads!_ ” John was fuming and when Sherlock turned around smirking, it only made matters worse.

“That was a road!” Sherlock took a few steps backwards before turning and walking into the hotel lobby.

“No, that was an ally.” John shook his head and finally laughed as he followed his husband.

“Hello Doctor and Mr. Antilles.” Elena, the young receptionist smiled up at them as they entered.

“Hello.” Sherlock ruffled his hair and smiled as he walked to the desk. “Anything come for us today?”

“Yes, sir. A letter.” She handed Sherlock a letter that was addressed to them in Mycroft’s elegant handwriting.

“Very good. Could you please have a dinner menu brought up when they are ready?”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?”

“No.” Sherlock began walking away but then turned with a twinkle in his eyes. “Actually… yes. Don’t watch the camera footage from the lift. My husband is quite angry at me, which means I’m in for a proper snog.”

The doors hadn’t even closed before John was roughly slamming Sherlock against the back wall. With one strong hand John pinned Sherlock’s right arm above his head while his other hand wrapped around Sherlock’s throat. John’s teeth met Sherlock’s neck with force and he bit hard enough to leave a mark before nibbling his way up to Sherlock’s bottom lip. He brushed his tongue across Sherlock’s lip and as Sherlock’s lips parted he pushed in and their tongues clashed together.

They were both so lost in the moment, in each other, that they didn’t even feel the lift stopping at the next floor. Nor did they hear the couple enter. It wasn’t until the gentleman, a middle aged man, cleared his throat that they both came crashing back to reality. John pulled off of Sherlock in a flash and scratched the back of his head sheepishly while Sherlock just stood there grinning, fingers brushing against his swollen lips.

“Sorry… errr.. on our honeymoon.” John straightened his shirt and prayed that the bulge in his pants wasn’t obvious. The woman giggled and turned to her husband.

“Frank, remember when that used to be us?” Judging by her accent, they were American.

“Used to be? You sayin’ I don’t still got it, Vickie? I’m sure we could show these two a thing or two about making out in an elevator!”

“I assure you… Frank, that my husband has three continents worth of experience.” Sherlock held out his hand to the older gentleman. “Wedge  Antilles, and this is my husband, Doctor John Antilles.”

Frank took Sherlock’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “British, I take it?”

“Yes, London, in fact.” Sherlock smiled and gave John a wink.

“Is it true that it always rains there?” Vickie asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Quite a bit, yes. But not as much as people think.” Sherlock forced a smile, trying to hide his annoyance for  the question. _“It's like Americans never see rain.That’s always the first thing they ask…”_

John looked on in silence as Sherlock chatted with the couple for the rest of the ride. When they stopped at the top floor and the doors opened to their suite, Vickie key out an awed gasp.

“Mm, I quite agree. It is lovely.” Sherlock started to follow John out of the lift but turned around just inside and gave them his most charming smile. “Say, why don’t you two join us here for dinner. I’ll call down to the front desk and have your meals brought here. Just ring up before coming and we’ll unlock the lift.”

“Sounds lovely.” Vickie looked to her husband who nodded.

“Then it’s settled. Leave the wine to us!” Sherlock gave them his biggest smile and then the second the door closed the smile faded

“And what was all that? Inviting them to dinner?” John glanced cautiously at Sherlock.

“We’re undercover, John. Need to act it!” Sherlock glanced at John as if he honestly couldn’t believe that John didn’t understand.

“And how is inviting strangers to dinner helping?”

“Because John! They’re Americans!” Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed his scarf aside.

John huffed, bent and picked up Sherlock’s scarf from the floor and placed it on the arm of one of the sofas. The then plopped down on the sofa and picked up his tablet. “Again… how does that help?”

“Because, John!” Sherlock said again, this time in true annoyed Sherlock fashion. “Tomorrow night, when they go downstairs to the bar to have a drink, they’ll talk about the adorable newlyweds in the top floor suite. As we know Americans get loud when they drink. That means word will spread of our… affection. And that will be the sole focus.” Sherlock tossed his coat on top of his scarf and sat down next to John, glancing at the tablet. “Blogging?” Disappointment rang heavy in his voice.

“Mm.. yes.” John nodded as he began picking away at the onscreen keyboard. “Haven’t updated in ages. Supposed to be on Holiday… Should post something.” John skillfully ignored Sherlock as the detective began smothering John's neck and shoulder with kisses. “Not going to work, Sherlock.” John acted annoyed but inwardly he was chuffed. He loved it when Sherlock acted like this. It would eventually work, but he wasn’t sure that Sherlock knew that yet.

“Bored, John!” Sherlock’s voice was husky as he tried to seduce John away from the tablet.

“Mmm… that’s nice, dear.” John murmured as he began his two fingered typing in earnest. Sherlock spent the next ten minutes kissing, sucking, nibbling and biting John’s neck. Afterter one particularly hard bite that made John inhale sharply from pain John turned to Sherlock and glared. “Don’t you have a case to solve?”

“Yes…” Sherlock sighed dramatically. “I need a clear head. I need my mind to restart. I’m missing something, John. Something obvious. Something important.” Sherlock sighed again and slumped against the sofa like a deflated balloon. Limbs outstretched on the floor, arse mostly hanging off the sofa, back pressed against the bottom cushion and his neck bent at an odd angle from being pressed against the back of the sofa.

After five full minutes of huffing and moaning, and John ignoring him, Sherlock slid down and off the sofa. From his position on the floor, Sherlock looked up at John and gave him the most pitiful expression he could muster. John ignored him.

“Fine.” Sherlock said as he got to his knees. John didn’t glance up at him, he figured that Sherlock would leave him alone to finish his blog. But instead, Sherlock shuffled on his knees a few inches until he was directly between John’s legs. Before John knew what was happening his buckle was undone, fly unzipped and Sherlock was pulling his cock, _“And balls… Jesus…”_ free from his pants. 

John looked down at the tablet that was now very much in the way and grinned as he put it aside. “Not like I’ll be able to form a complete thought in a few moments anyways.”  Sherlock smirked as he wrapped his hand firmly around John’s balls and toyed the tip of his tongue around his foreskin. With his other hand, Sherlock slowly pushed back John’s foreskin and lightly licked at the tip of John’s cock.

“Excited already?” Sherlock jokingly chided. “Look at all this precum, and so soon.”

“Soon?” John sighed and rested his head on the back of the sofa. “Pretty sure what you were doing five minutes ago was more than enough to get me going.”

"You say that like you believe I'm not aware of that. I should be hurt, John."

"Sherlock, in case you aren't aware, it is impossible for you to both suck my cock and talk at the same time. I know that you’re a genius, but everyone has their limits." John made to reach for the tablet again and laughed as Sherlock placed his lips back around his cock and looked up at John as if to say “Better?”

Something inside John needed control tonight, so he slipped his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and with both hands guided his movements. Sherlock didn’t fight him, instead he hummed happily when John pushed his head down and held him on his cock. He counted to 30 and then released Sherlock’s head long enough for Sherlock to gasp for air. John shoved Sherlock’s head down again and let out a strangled moan as Sherlock swallowed around his dick.

“Fuck, you drive me insane when you do that.” John gripped Sherlock’s hair even harder as Sherlock hummed a little before swallowing again. “Keep that up, and this will be over before it’s even started.” John moaned as he let Sherlock up for air again. Before Sherlock replaced his lips on John’s cock he looked up and grinned wickedly.

“Challenge accepted.” His voice was just above a whisper, and was almost lost as he skilfully swallowed the entirety of John’s cock in one swift attempt. He placed his hands flat on John’s thighs and began a pleasant mixture of humming and swallowing while bobbing his head up and down a few inches. Despite his best attempts to stay still, John began bucking his hips, sending his cock further down Sherlock’s throat. John only lightly held Sherlock’s head down, yet Sherlock refused to pull off, refused to come up for air. He kept his hands flat on John’s thighs, a sign that all was well.  It only took another full minute before John was crying out in a strange, broken, far away voice.

“Sherlock! I’m.. I’m cumming.” With a long low groan that sounded purely inhuman, John pulled at Sherlock’s hair hard enough to pull the man's face up and off his cock. He released one of his hands and gave his cock a quick jerk and watched as his cum shot all over Sherlock’s face, and hair.

Sherlock blinked in surprise as a shot of cum fell dangerously close to his right eye. He waited until John had finished twitching until he leaned in and gave his cock a soft, yet tender, kiss.

“That was…” Sherlock paused to scoop up a glob of cum before it dripped off his chin. “unexpected.” Sherlock closed his eyes and sucked his finger clean with a happy hum. John’s ego skyrocketed and threatened to soar right through the roof as Sherlock removed as much of his cum as he could before sucking his fingers clean.

“We should do that again. Only next time, you should cum on my nose. That way I can smell you all day.” Sherlock stood and adjusted himself in his trousers.

 John let out a half moan half laugh as he collapsed back onto the sofa. Sherlock stood, kissed the top of John’s head, and left to room. John took a few moments to collect himself, and unbutton his trousers,  before picking up his tablet again. He was left (mostly) alone long enough to type up a short blog. He was just looking it over, and editing in some pictures when Sherlock walked up behind him and leaned over the sofa.

“What?” Sherlock’s nose was very close to John’s ear. “No mention of the exotic male guide that you hired to escort you around? The one who shares a bed with you each night?”

“Hmm.. no. I want to keep Carlos to myself for now. At least until I know if it is serious between him and I.” John grinned over at Sherlock and offered him a playful kiss as he posted his blog.

* * *

 

After dinner the two couples gathered up their wine and moved out to the terrace to watch the sunset. Sherlock broke the comfortable silence first.

“So, Frank. What do you do back home?” He pulled out a cigarette and ignored John’s glare as he puffed it to life.

“Oh, just an average Joe.” Frank took the cigarette Sherlock offered him and sat back once it was lit. “I work as a General Manager for a Grocery Store Chain on the East Coast. And Vicki here has recently retired to babysit full time for our new grandson.”

Vickie gave a delighted squeal and began showing them pictures on her phone of their grandson After she was assured that John and ‘Wedge’ knew just how perfectly adorable he was she sat back and smiled happily.

“And what about you two?” Frank eyed Sherlock with a curious air.

“Well, as you know, John here is a doctor. Surgeon, actually, and a retired Army Captain. You can say that I didn’t just marry him for his good looks.” Sherlock smiled warmly at John, genuinely impressed with his husband’s accomplishments. “I guess you could say that John and I run a bit of a consulting business together.” Sherlock reached out and wrapped his arm around John’s hips, gently drawing him to his lap.

“So, General Manager? How many stores do you oversee?” John asked as he settled comfortably down on Sherlock’s lap.

“At the moment, 10. I do enjoy it, but it’s not exactly what you would call fun. But, that’s what my pigeons are for.”

“Pigeons?” John asked.

“Oh yes, Frank raises and trains carrier Pigeons. He even competes with them on occasion.” Vickie pipped up, obviously quite happy to brag about her husband.

Over the course of the next two hours, the four of them chatted freely about various topics. It turned out that Vicki once was a music instructor, and Sherlock listened intently as she described years of trying to teach children. Two bottles of wine later Vicki was yawning profusely and Frank stood and nodded.

“Well, gentlemen, this has been awesome. Thank you so much for the invite. We’re here another week, so I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

John stood up and offered his hand. “Yes, thank you. Please don’t be strangers!” After a series of farewells at the lift John and Sherlock were finally left alone.

“Well, that wasn’t terrible.” John smiled as he began clearing away dishes. “Seem like a nice couple.”  Sherlock took in a deep breath as if to spill the secrets of their entire lives. “Sherlock, for once, I don’t want to know. You’re probably going to tell me that he cheated on her, or that she is really his sister, or something insane like that.”

“Actually, I was going to agree with you. I’ve never, other than us, seen two people more in love than they are with each other.”

“Other than us?” John smiled and put down the cloth he was washing the table off with and walked up to Sherlock.

“Obviously.” Sherlock’s voice dropped down to a whisper as John inched closer and closer. “We are quite in love. All those years of… how did Mrs. Hudson word it? Eye Sex? Yes, all those years of eye sex really paid off.”

“Bedroom.” John whispered as he cupped Sherlock’s groin in his hand. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Sherlock smirked as he watched John reluctantly move away. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come now, and leave that for housekeeping?”

“Mmm housekeeping. Brilliant.” John grinned as he followed after Sherlock.

Still quite sated from earlier, John focused all of his energy on Sherlock. He slowly undressed him, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. When he kissed between Sherlock’s shoulder blades Sherlock’s body quivered and he let out a soft sigh.

“Mmm… I like that, John.” Sherlock moaned softly.

“I can tell…” John whispered and placed a few more light kisses to the sensitive spot before moving on. By the time Sherlock was fully undressed he was a moaning mess, quickly unraveling against John’s expert touch. And when John placed his warm, slightly chapped lips around his cock heat shot through Sherlock’s body like wildfire. It made him feel dizzy, like he was floating a few inches off the bed while soft fingers, John’s fingers, brushed across every inch of skin he could reach from his position. Sherlock was going into sensory overdrive, each feeling magnified in his mind. John’s tongue felt like electricity coursing over his cock.

Sherlock didn’t even know he was about to cum until it was happening. His shout sounded distant, as if it came from someone else somewhere in the suite. He vaguely remembered John’s chuckle before his mind shut off completely and he was left with nothing. For a full 45 seconds Sherlock thought of nothing except John. He heard nothing but John’s gentle coos of praise. And then as if someone flicked a switch, his mind came back with a flash of life. And there it was. The answer.

“Pigeons!” Sherlock shouted as he jumped up. Standing in the middle of the bed with wide eyes. It registered in his mind that John looked quite ridiculous from his sprawled out position on the floor but he needed to focus. “Pigeons, John! Don’t you see?”

Sherlock bounded off the bed, raced into the main room, leaped over the sofa and skidded to a halt as he picked up his laptop. John reached his side, with a bewildered look on his face, just as Sherlock was bringing up images of each crime scene.

“See! Pigeons.” Sherlock pointed, and sure enough, in each set there was at least one picture with the same pigeon. It had a band of green around it’s neck that looked like a zig-zag.

“That’s how they are communicating! Carrier Pigeons!” Sherlock, naked and slightly covered in his own ejaculate, stood there grinning in the middle of the suite. “Now we have a chance!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I am not making fun of Americans. 
> 
> Well... maybe a bit... but I'm American, so I think it's okay? 
> 
> ALSO. While blocked I started writing something else. That something else turned into an Omega Fic that I'm loving... SO in order to keep my self happy (Hope that's okay!) I'm going to be updating here once a week, and the other fic once a week. We are drawing near an end here, though... I don't wish to drag it out, but nor will I rush it. :)


	44. 29th January 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracking pigeons proved to be much harder than Sherlock had anticipated.

The elevator door opened and Sherlock stalked his way into the suite. He threw his coat down angrily on the sofa and wordlessly accepted the glass of wine from John.

“Three days, John…” Sherlock sat down on the sofa and sighed. “Three days, and I’m no closer. Nothing! I’m even dreaming about pigeons.” Sherlock placed his wine down on the coffee table and ruffled his hair. “Did you know that there is a bloody pigeon race going on? How the hell am I supposed to find one bloody pigeon?”

“Why not…” John sat down next to Sherlock and crossed his legs, “changing the angle. We’ve been focusing on the murders.”

“Yes, John. We’re here to investigate the murders, so naturally we’ve been focusing on them.” Sherlock’s tone was annoyed, clearly not seeing John’s point.

“Well, yes. But who’s saying there won't be more?” John lifted his wine glass to his lips and paused for dramatic effect. “Another murder?”

“Another murder? I don’t see…” Sherlock’s face went from scrunched up confusion to pure understanding as his mouth formed a silent O. “You mean, we could prevent it?”

“In a perfect world, yes. Now the police have already noticed a pattern.” John leaned forward and shuffled through some of the paperwork on the coffee table. “Ahh.. here.” He held up a paper. “Seems our murderer prefers weekends… Usually, perhaps coincidence though I think not, the first weekend of the month. Why, I’m not sure… Work? Maybe..”

“Financial statements!” Sherlock grabbed the nearest tablet and pulled up some records. “See, John!” He leaned over and kissed his husband enthusiastically. “Each murder has taken place after the victim's company released some financial information… Here… With…” Sherlock shuffled with his notes. “Professor Durk...  He was murdered 24 hours after his employer released a statement saying that the college was suffering financially.”

They spent the next few hours linking together a pattern. By the time they were done the coffee table looked as if an elaborate puzzle had been put together.

“Sherlock…” John asked over their second glass of wine. “The first weekend of the month…”

“This weekend! What is today, John?” Sherlock glanced at his watch.

“Tuesday.”

“We have time!” Sherlock grabbed John’s head in both hands and kissed him wildly on the lips. “What would I do without you?”

“Jump off a building?” John cracked a crooked grin.

“Funny… Very funny, John.” Sherlock grinned at John while looking at him in admiration. “John… I love you. I wish you knew how many times I wanted to tell you that over the years… How many times after solving a case I wanted to…” Sherlock actually blushed, “wanted to push you against the wall as soon as we were in the flat… Or take you in the back of Lestrade’s car.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that!” John scoffed as he turned back to his wine.

“Mmm of course. We’ll have to remember that when we’re back.”

“Mmm right. So,” John looked back at the table. “how do we proceed?”

“We go to the pigeon race, and see if we can spot our bird.” Sherlock stood and retrieved his coat. “Husband mine, would you like to go on a date.”

* * *

 

They picked their way through the crowd. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John, attempting to keep him warm against the cold temperatures. They found a spot to sit, just outside the crowed. Sherlock wrapped his coat around John, who still hadn’t gained back most of his weight, and left him to go find tea. Anything to warm him up.

John snuggled into Sherlock’s coat and watched the crowd. It seemed strange, being here. Especially being here with Sherlock. They’d both been through so much, both together and alone, and this bit of normalcy felt misplaced. _“Christ… after all, here I am in his bloody coat, waiting for him to bring me tea, like a good husband!”_ John shifted uncomfortably in his seat and fought back a chill.

“Got a little something that’ll warm you up…” John turned to his right and saw a young kid, no more than 17 sitting next to him. The kid was jittery, nervous, and kept running his finger under his nose. John felt his heart sink into his chest and he wanted to run.

“No… No thank you. Not interested.” John faced forward and did his best to ignoring the itching sensation in the back of his mind. _“Don’t even think about it, Watson… Just look forward...Sherlock will be here soon.”_

“Come on… Just a hit, it’ll warm you right up!”

John ignored him, but he couldn’t stop his breathing from becoming labored. By the time Sherlock returned John was nearing full panic mode. Sherlock nearly spilled both cups of tea as he pushed through the throng of people to reach John.

“What’s wrong? What happened? John?” Sherlock’s eyes darted over John, looking for any signs of injury. And then his eyes fell on the young man beside him. Anger flashed in Sherlock’s eyes and he snarled at the stranger. “If you know what’s best for you, get out of here before I call the police.”

Sherlock handed John a cup of tea, mainly so he had a free hand, and pulled John to his feet. He wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders and lead him away from the crowd. Once alone in a narrow alley he crowded John against a building and with his free hand tilted his chin until John was forced to look at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked with a deep voice, full of concern.

“Fine… Just.” John’s voice faltered and he looked away.

“John, I’ve been there. I know that look. And I know you.”

“Sherlock.” John shot Sherlock a warning look as he pushed the taller man away. “I’m fine. That means, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe I will later, maybe I wont. We have a case to solve, and right now I need to keep my mind focused on something other than bloody withdrawals.” John pushed away and began walking towards the crowd. After a few angry steps he turned around and glanced at Sherlock, his demeanor softer. “Come on, husband. The game is on.” He offered Sherlock a weak smile and held out his hand. In three long strides Sherlock was by John’s side, clasping his hand tightly.

“We’ll talk later.” He looked down at John and knew by his set jaw that the doctor knew that was a statement, not a question.

Other than learning just how fast their toes went numb in the cold, they learned very little from this expedition. Their peculiar pigeon was not at the race, however Vicki and Frank could be seen in the front row, cheering and yelling happily. Sherlock was more than happy to leave when John huffed his frustration.

“I can no longer feel my toes, and now my calves have started to go numb. I need a long soak and a warm cup of tea.”

* * *

 

“Go start the bath, I’ll make tea.” Sherlock helped John out of his coat and pushed John towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right in.”

John didn’t complain. He walked into the bathroom and turned the taps on, even the cold water felt hot on his fingers. John shed himself of his clothes and with a sigh, and a wince, settled into the water. Sherlock arrived a few minutes later, handing John the tea he quickly stripped and stepped into the tub with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Fantastic idea, John.” Sherlock wiggled his toes under the water, almost proud that he could feel them move again. John nodded and cradled his mug in his hand, staring into the milky tea.

“You’re thinking, and it is painful.” Sherlock rubbed his feet along either side of John’s left leg. “I need you to not think.” He shifted in the water until both of his legs were between Johns. With a mischievous grin Sherlock wiggled his toes gently into the curls between John’s legs. “Should shave you…” He mused out loud. “I like my doctors clean shaven…”

Sherlock placed his tea on a table just within reach, grabbed a razor, a small dish and some shaving cream and leaned forward until his nose was pressed against John’s.

“Sit on the edge of the tub.” John hesitated for a moment but did as he was told, holding onto Sherlock’s shoulder for support. Sherlock glided forward in the water and spread John’s legs. With gentle and precise fingers he began shaving John. He worked slowly, as if he was sculpting a masterpiece. Gently maneuvering John’s balls out of the way he worked until John’s skin was smoother than a baby’s, well, bottom. He rinsed the razor in the dish and pulled John back into the water.

“There… that will be more fun later.” Sherlock winked and retrieved his tea. “Or now… depending on your mood.”

“Sherlock, shower sex, or bath sex, is never as sexy as it sounds. Water… just doesn’t make good lubricant. Especially for us.”

Without a word Sherlock got out of the tub and without drying off began walking towards the bedroom.

“Oi! Sherlock, the floors!” John shouted after him. Sherlock waved him off, but grabbed a towel before he left the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later waving a piece of paper in the air with one hand and clutching a bottle of lube in his other.

“I’m cashing one in for you.” John took the paper from Sherlock’s hands and laughed. It was one of the coupons Sherlock had given him for christmas. “Bathroom sex? You’re cashing in for me? Is that allowed?” John placed his tea on the floor and looked up at Sherlock.

“Allowed? Of course its allowed! I made them after all.” Sherlock climbed back into the tub and invaded John’s personal space, sending water sloshing over the side of the tub. “Now, turn around, bend over the tub, and quit your complaining. I promise this will warm you up quite a bit.”

John rolled his eyes but did as Sherlock asked, feeling quite silly hanging over the side of the tub. That silliness was soon replaced by heavy breathing and a string of curses as Sherlock pushed two fingers deep inside his entrance while his other hand began kneading his balls gently. John bit back a cry as Sherlock pushed relentlessly into his prostate. Sherlock chuckled darkly as John lurched forward with a shout.

“Stay still, John.” Sherlock grabbed John’s hip with his free hand and pulled him back into the tub more. Sherlock held John in an iron grip until his knuckles went white. John began keening, rocking back onto Sherlock’s fingers, seeking more.

“Sherlock…” John’s voice cracked so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Sherlock, fuck me already!” John twisted his torso around so he could look back at his husband and let out a grunt of approval as he saw Sherlock stroking his cock.  John had just barely enough time to turn around and grip the tub before Sherlock was pushing into him. Sherlock was quick and rough and John had to bite back a small cry of pain. Sherlock immediately stilled.

“Not good?”

“No… Mmm…” John let out a breath and clenched his muscles, feeling fully impaled by Sherlock’s cock. “Good, just… needed a moment.”

Once the pain subsided John gave a nod and Sherlock grabbed John’s hips with both hands. He pulled fully out and then slammed his full length back into JOhn with a grunt. John lost his balance and began slipping forward but Sherlock held him still. With Sherlock’s iron grip holding him in place, John released the tub and slipped a hand between his legs. He gripped his cock and matched his strokes with Sherlock’s thrusts.

“Look at you…” Sherlock released his right hand and trailed it gently down arching spine. “So  open for me… so ready, so wanting.”

John felt a shiver run down his spine. While Sherlock’s words were far from ideal, his dirty talk had come a long way in the short amount of time they had been together.

“Need you, Sherlock…” As John grunted the words it struck him how very true that was. If it hadn’t been for this man, who was currently balls deep inside him, he probably would have taken the drugs from that kid earlier. That is, if he had survived his initial overdose.

“You’re thinking, John.” Sherlock snapped his hips up and twisted his hips sideways. John couldn’t quite tell what Sherlock was hitting, but he knew he wanted it to happen again.

“Stop… You should only be thinking about my cock.” Sherlock replicated his movement, making John moan in pleasure. “thinking.”

“I… was… was just.” John tried but Sherlock cut him off with a loud series of grunts as he began thrusting hard into his blogger. “Christ! Keep that up, Sherlock…” John tightened his grip around his cock. “and  I’m going to cum.”

“That is rather the point…” Sherlock spoke in a labored grunt.

John let out a chuckle that quickly turned into short grunts as his body began to tense, informing Sherlock that he was close.

Sherlock moved both hands to John’s hips again and held on hard. As he moved out of John he pushed John forward, and as he thrust in he pulled John towards him. John’s cries for more soon became incoherent babbling that only added fuel to Sherlock’s fire. Their movements were causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub, but Sherlock was too close to his release to care.

After a moment he felt his balls tighten and he grunted. “Now, John!” Sherlock used every last ounce of his energy as he thrust in three more times before shooting his seed deep into his husband. Who, by the sounds he was making was still riding the high of his own orgasm.

Once he was sure that John could steady himself Sherlock sank into the water and laughed contentedly. John, after a moment, joined him in the water after flashing him a lopsided grin.

“Christ, we need to use those coupons more often.

“Mmmm…” Sherlock moved so John had room to rest his head on his shoulders. “When we run out, I’ll make more.”

“Sounds brilliant. But… can you make some that are… public?”

Sherlock nodded and then did a double take, eyes wide in happy surprise.

“Public? Really, John?” Sherlock let out a content sigh and wrapped an arm around John after turning on the jets in the Jacuzzi.

“Yes, Sherlock… Hand job in the tube, quickie in Lestrade’s car after a case, back alley blow job…” 

“My my, John… Don’t you have a dirty mind?” Sherlock chuckled as he kissed the top of his lover’s head. “Every the one to seek danger, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Sherlock?” John tilted his head up and looked at his detective.

“Mmm?” Sherlock nuzzled his nose into John’s greying hair.

“Err… thanks… for earlier. I..” John cleared his throat. “I would… er, might have…” His voice faltered and Sherlock tightened his hold on him.

“John, I of all people know how hard it is.  Please know that I never expected you to simply be over it just because I came back. However, you’re doing much better than I expected. The iron will of a soldier…”

“It hasn’t been easy…” It felt good to finally admit it, and John was surprised at how easily it was to talk freely. “But you’ve been there for me. Even when you weren’t aware of it.”  John nuzzled back down and peppered Sherlock’s chest with light kisses. “Thank you…”

“Anything for you, John. You should know that by now… Absolutely anything.”  They sat in silence, tea forgotten, until their skin became wrinkled from the tub. John was the first to stir.

“Dinner then bed?” John grabbed a towel and stepped out of the water.

“As always, brilliant idea, John.

* * *

 

A shrill ring split the silence of the night and woke John from a dream. John rolled over and stuffed his head under the pillow, willing the noise to stop. It eventually did so John got comfortable again and was almost asleep when the noise sounded for the second time, partially waking him up. It was only then that the noise registered to John as Sherlock's ringtone.

"Sherlock..." John mumbled, half asleep. "Phone..." Sherlock grunted, but didn't move, clearly not interested in being woken up for something as trivial as his phone.

"I'll just get it then, shall I?" Slightly annoyed, John made sure to tear the blankets off of Sherlock as he sat up. He crawled over Sherlock and didn't apologize when his knee made contact with Sherlock's groin. His fingers clasped around the cold hard shape that was Sherlock's iPhone and he fell back to bed while pressing the phone to his ear, ignoring Sherlock's pained groans

"Yes? Hello." John dug a fist into his eye trying, and nearly failing, to stay awake.

"Is this Sherlock?" The voice sounded familiar, but John's mind was still desperately holding on to the dream he had been having.

"No, John Watson."

"Ah, John!"  The voice seemed relieved to have reached him. "It's Cody. I've got word that there has been another kidnapping."

“Sherlock! Wake up!” John poked Sherlock in his one ticklish spot, right in the ribs. “Oi, wake up! There’s been another kidnapping.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot open and he grabbed the phone from John. He spoke quickly as he stood and began dressing.

“Who? Where? When?”

“Odalis Artemio, he’s a Financial Auditor,” Cody paused and Sherlock could hear a faint shuffle of papers. “Err... about an hour ago from his house. It was brought to our attention by his wife. She came home from a dinner party and found the house in shambles.”

“An hour?” Sherlock barked into the phone as he placed it down to pull his shirt over his head.” And you’re just now telling me?” Sherlock didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “We’ve lost precious time! You’ve allowed them to get a head start.” Sherlock tossed a handful of clothes at John who grunted and tore a pair of pants off his face.

“Fantastic aim, Sherlock…” John grumbled as he stuffed his legs into his pants.

Sherlock spared John a playful wink then turned his attention back to Cody, who was busy apologizing. Explaining that he had informed Sherlock the instant he had found out.

Finally dressed Sherlock checked his appearance in the mirror and fixed a disheveled curl.

“Where should we meet you?

“The lobby of your hotel. I’ll be there in five minutes.

Sherlock hung up the phone and called out as he moved towards the bathroom.

“Five minutes, John.”

“Right.” John acknowledged as he crawled out of bed and began dressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for how long this has taken me. And also for the fact that this is all I have to offer. I've reached a point in this fic where I've hit a brick wall. And I don't want to force it and have it be shitty. Updates may come infrequently from now on until I get past this slump.
> 
> If you have ANY suggestions, I am MORE than happy to hear them and incorporate them into this story! You guys have been so helpful, and so kind to me through this that I'd love to add in your ideas as a thank you. Please feel free to comment them here or e-mail me at lmleclair1988@gmail.com with the subject "Blog"
> 
> Thank you everyone. :)


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